


Amok

by my_soul_is_fire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Amara is NOT God's sister, Amnesia, Angel Charlie, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angels, Battle, Blood and Gore, Cliffhangers, Dark, Dean Has Powers, Demon Dean, Depression, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Killer Dean, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Mark of Cain, Mind Control, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Souls, Spells & Enchantments, Torture, Violence, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 176,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_soul_is_fire/pseuds/my_soul_is_fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to forget the slaughter of his family, Dean runs the woods, holding a blade of bone, and bathes into the blood of innocent souls. On the other side, Castiel is a creature of light, covering the ground with delicate steps, trying to live after his Fall.</p><p>Everything is keeping them apart, but when Castiel saves Dean from the Hunters coming after him, their lives change forever. Wary at first, Dean will soon see a dangerous, incredible bond drawing him to this angel who seems to hide something deep inside, something beyond imagination.</p><p>As they start to find peace and freedom in each other, the lies appear and the past comes back, wearing a dress of shadows and an evil smile, leading to a battle with broken soldiers and hopeless emotions ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into The Night

**Author's Note:**

> "'Running amok' is used to refer to the behavior of someone who, in the grip of strong emotion, obtains a weapon and begins attacking people indiscriminately, often with multiple fatalities. An episode of amok may be triggered by a period of depression or highly aggressive behavior."
> 
> Playlist: http://8tracks.com/my-soul-is-fire/amok

 

**_1 a.m._ **

The fire is crackling happily, spitting sparks at the backpackers' feet. Despite the cold wind blowing around them, hitting their red cheeks with sharp fingers, they barely notice it. Sitting on small logs, they listen to the guide with wide open eyes and mouths.

The man, Greg, talks while moving his hands in the air, his eyes illuminated by the flames. Every word he whispers makes the walkers shiver, and it is definitely not because of the cold. A few minutes later, the guide stops, takes a deep breath. He takes a sip of his coffee and observes the men and women facing him. He laughs a little at their frightened faces, their nervous moves, and the way they get closer to each other, like it could protect them.

 

They are just some middle-class, pathetic, hypocritical people. They were bored, and the husband probably suggested some holidays. The wife probably approved, and that was done. Once they got rid of the kids, and threw them into their aunts' arms, they drove, but not for too long.

The place was not bad, the city was nearly pretty. But since a few months, the tourists were rushing to the town, a merciless desire of novelty running through their veins. Because that is what they were all looking for: the thrill of danger, the call of darkness.

 

 _Like everyone,_ thought Greg. Even him was mysteriously attracted by the woods these days. Apparently, the police found corpses here and there, all savagely torn to shreds, their blood painting every leaf, every rock around. They assured it was the work of a human being, since the bodies, or what was left of them, were deeply scarred by some kind of knife or blade.

If the story would make anyone shiver, it was not keeping the crowd away. Stories and legends began to appear and flew through the whole state. People were talking about a demon, a _monster_ , that would violently murder the poor souls wandering into the woods once the sun was out of sight.

Of course, the forest was forbidden to anyone at night, but that wasn't keeping Greg from doing his business. Once in a while, he would organize excursions into the woods, taking the money of credulous fools. He would take them walking for a while, then tell them a bunch of stories and then it was over. They would shiver a little and walk to their tent, glancing nervously around them. Then, in the morning they would shrug and go back to their expensive cars, aching and cold.

 

Everyone was happy: they got their thrill and Greg would hold warm dollar bills against his chest. Some of them would fly each month into the cops' palms and they would close their eyes on his little trips.

 

He blows on his coffee and covers the walkers with a wide smile. ''So, who heard about the stories goin' about this bastard?''

 

A frail, pale woman raises a shaking hand. Her boyfriend seems as impressed as her, and it's quite a show to see him holding her hand like it would keep him from falling of his seat.

“Yes, the lady over there?” Greg asks, ready to hear a new twisted version of the story that kept shifting each time.

 

The woman clears her throat. ''Well, I heard... I heard it was the ghost of a man haunting the forest.''

 

Greg raises an eyebrow. _Well, that's new._ He moves his hand and invites the girl to keep going. She shivers, again.

“They say that many years ago, there was a killer in this town. He would run into the woods and he would tear apart anyone who dared to stand in his way. One day, he was caught by the police and shot by a bullet in the heart. But when they came to bring his body back, he stood up again, and killed them all. Since that moment, he kept running to bring despair in all the country, holding a blade of bone. But now, he's back here, in this city, and he is ready to kill like he used to.”

 

She stops, swallowing hardly, blinking quickly. Greg cannot help but feel a disgusting bile moving inside him, burning his throat. He shifts on his seat and tries to smile.

''Well, the little lady is right. Some people say they saw him runnin' near the road, covered of blood, wearing guts aroun' his neck like a freakin' trophy. The woods are his home, he knows them better than anyone else. Every tree, every trail. He will spare no one.''

 

Greg gets up and his shadow covers the walkers, who raise frightened eyes to look at him. The guide starts to walk slowly around them.

''If you dare to enter his kingdom, he will come and find you.'' He brushes against a jacket. ''If you try to run, he will come and he will tear you to pieces.'' He takes a strand of hair, twists it around a finger. ''He will open your chest, BOOM!''

 

The walkers jump and Greg can see the fear growing inside them as their eyes widen with horror.

''He will rip your heart, cut you into little pieces, drink your blood like cheap wine. He will sit on your bones and wear your skin, and he will **destroy** you.''

 

 _Shiver, shiver, shiver._ _The fire is not bright enough, the woods are coming closer, the wind blows and roars, the moon appears above them, huge, incredible, monstrous._

 

Greg smiles again, with all his teeth, but inside, an acid fear started to rain on his guts. ''But you wanna know the worst of all?''

 

Despite their hearts beating like drums in their chests and their blood flowing in their ears, the walkers nod silently, too afraid of speaking.

Greg leans to look at them. ''Some say that he walks among us, that he leaves the woods and acts like a human. Maybe you saw him.'' A woman gasps, and puts instantly a hand on her mouth, breathing loudly, holding her husband's hand so tight their fingers turn white.

 

Greg is proud. Sure this trip will get him a lot of cash, these idiots are living the night of their life.

''Maybe he was in your motel, maybe he slept next to you. Maybe he held you the door and you thanked him. Maybe he was sittin' right next to ya, and he smelled you, already dreamin' of you like a piece of meat.''

 

One of the women started to shake, and she represses a sob. Greg sees they are ready to leave, that they want to run away from this place as fast as they can. But they are trapped. Without him, they cannot find their way through the forest, and after what they heard, they are not willing to get lost.

Greg sits again, lights a cigarette. He blows some cheap smoke at the walkers' faces. ''Some say that if you call him, he will come.''

 

''No!'' One of the women screams, standing up suddenly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

''C'mon, honey, you know this ain't true. Don't be an idiot!'' Her husband says as he forces her to sit down again. ''Do it.'' He adds, staring at the guide.

 

''Alright. Let's do it. And if this bastard comes, I'll take care of him myself.'' Greg says with a pat to his shiny gun. ''Repeat after me now. Monster.''

 

''Monster.''

 

''Demon.''

 

''Demon.''

 

''Abomination.''

 

''Abomination.''

 

 

There is a minute of silence and everyone holds their breath. Some of them glance around, trying to find a moving shadow behind the trees. Then, they start breathing again, all in the same move. Their hearts start to beat again, slowly, carefully.

Greg smiles, and takes another puff of his cigarette. ''See? Just a bunch of old' ladies losing their minds over some blood.'' He laughs.

 

_Shiver, shiver, shiver. Blood is flowing and skulls are smashed. Screams, and screams and screams. Teeth and claws and evil eyes._

 

''Told you, it's just some sick bastard running around. I'm not believing this satanic bullshit.''

 

There is a small sound, a little, disgusting noise. Greg raises his head.

 

 

Like gentle bloody dolls, the walkers are still listening to him.

Their heads at their feet.

 

 

Greg's scream gets stuck inside his throat. His cigarette falls on the ground with a rain of ashes, and his whole body stiffens.

 

Behind the corpses, behind the necks that spit blood like fireworks, there is a man.

 

He stands behind them, he does not move. He wears nothing but a pair of dark jeans. His hands are covered of fresh blood, and in one of them, there is a white blade, shining under the moon, his bare chest is painted in red. 

 

 

Greg tries to get up and run, but his limbs are numb and sore and his lungs are empty. He falls on his knees and he shakes, and even if he never had faith, he starts praying to whatever is in the sky.

 

The silhouette enters in the halo of the fire, and the flames cast shadows on his skin. Greg notices a dark mark on his left arm, sharp and swollen. In the darkness of the woods, the scar seems to shine bright like a bonfire.

 

''You called me.''

Greg jumps. The voice is strangely calm, and human. It is a soft melody, deep and low.

 

The man walks to him. ''Here I come.'' He whispers in the guide's ear.

 

The last thing Greg sees is two black eyes, two wells of suffering and despair, before the blood spurts out like a river to paint the trees, and the blade dives and dives into his flesh, emptying his body.

 

 

** \--------------------------------------------  **

 

 

_Gunshots. Screams. Feet bruising the ground. Weapons shining under the moon. Quick breathing, finger on the trigger, eyes on the prey. **BANG.**_

 

Dean screams of pain and he raises a hand to his wounded shoulder. Black blood flows through his fingers. His limbs are sore and he is tired. He tries to focus on where he is going but the pain grows inside him and his vision is shaking.

 

He stops for a second, leans against a tree. His arm and back burn, and he winces, tears coming to his eyes. The air feels like fire inside his lungs and his blood is like pure acid in his veins.

 _Shit._ He tries to look at the wound on the back of his shoulder and sees that a silver liquid started to flow out of the hole. The bullet was powerful enough to rip out all of the flesh and bone, but still got stuck. Like it was not enough, the damn thing is now inside him, poisoning him slowly.

 

The Hunters were getting wiser, and stronger. And he was getting too confident. He already knew they were running after him, but he was sure they would never catch him. He was as fast as the wind, and he could rip out their hearts before they even saw him coming.

And yet, there he is, bleeding like a dog, crying like a child. He should have stayed at home, but no, the annoying voice of that old man flew to his ears and even if deep down, he knew it was a mistake, he ran. He bathed into their blood and he laughed to the moon.

But the Hunters were near, and before he realized, he was already running, a bleeding hole in his shoulder. They were smart, he had to admit, and their weapons were incredible. The bullet must be filled with some kind of spell and now, he knows Death is coming for him.

 

He takes a deep breath and a low growl fills his throat. It is been a long time since he suffered that much. He even forgot what it was like. Usually, he was the one who inflicted pain. Not the contrary.

But now he is the victim, the prey, the pig ready to be bled. Even if he finds his little home, the Hunters were after him and they would finish him. And after that? Maybe they would put his head on a pike and celebrate the whole night, getting drunk and high, dancing around his corpse.

 

Fate is a cruel thing. This morning, he woke up safe and filled with a burning energy. He went to the city and walked around for a moment. He went to the bar and drank. Always with an eye on the Butterfly.

The Butterfly, as he called him, was an odd-looking man. He was once walking the street and brushed against him, without even seeing him. Dean stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and his eyes followed the man until he was out of sight. Usually, people would step aside when he came in front of them.

Maybe it was that strange aura he was carrying everywhere, and few people dared to get close. They could not help being attracted by him, their minds tied to his, but everytime they stepped inside that darkness, their hearts were suddenly taken by fear and they would step back, apologize, and walk away, as far as possible.

Few had the courage to get closer, and the ones who bathed in sweat and moans in his arms were not that lucky, for they never saw the sun rise again.

 

But this man, he did not even paid attention to him. When he brushed against him, his fresh, blue aura melt into Dean's darkness and he stood there, incapable of moving. This sensation, he would never forget it. It changed him.

 

That is why he decided the man had to die. This ghost, this butterfly that covered the ground with precious, careful steps. He did not walk, he was nearly floating above the pavement, dark hair on the wind, dreamy smile on his face.

 

Everyday, Dean would track him down, following the melody of his feet touching the ground. The man would often wander in the streets, the heavy cold wind falling on him, but he did not mind. He would often sat and observe the people walking, the dark clouds forming in the sky. He would walk into the night, and sleep never seemed to find him.

He would smile and smile, and show a heart of gold to everyone, and people would stop, breathless, everytime. There were sparkles fizzing in his aura, biting softly their skin.

Dean hated that. There were too much light coming out of him, a revolting kindness surrounding him. Dean would shake and imagine his blade diving into this tan chest, and his hands around this thin neck.

 

And yet, he was incapable of doing it. Once, on a cold evening, he hunted him down a dark alley, his knife warm in his hand. But when he was about to see the blood flow, his mind stiffened and his heart started racing. He hid quickly on the roofs, and the man turned around, giving the street a puzzled look.

 

Today, he was ready. He felt it, and he planned it all. The game was over. He would rip out his paper wings.

But on his way to the city, he heard the guide, and here he was. Destiny struck again, and instead of watching the blood go black under the moon, he is aching under the skies.

 

He is feeling weaker, and he hears the hounds coming closer. The Hunters' steps are heavy on the soil, and a thin drizzle started to fall, freezing him whole in a few seconds.

A deep lament starts to grow inside his lungs, and soon, he will be nothing more than a moth under the Hunters' boots.

He starts to run again, and his body hurts, begs him to stop. His blood is cold, his thoughts are fuzzy, his eyes are full of burning tears the rain cannot wash away. He stumbles, and the rocks are sharp under his feet, that are nothing but gaping, bleeding wounds.

 

Suddenly, he falls on his knees and he cannot stop the scream that follows the pain. He bites his lips and tries to get up, but his hands are shaking. He barely breathes.

Blurred shapes appear on the horizon and he blinks, sure the hallucinations began. But they are really here, the Hunters are coming and God knows what they will do to him.

 

He sits on the ground, holds his blade tighter, ready to fight. He knows the fight will not be fair: demon or not, he is dying. But if he can take one or two with him to Hell, well, he is ready to fight until his body falls to pieces.

 

Suddenly, one of the men points at him. ''He's right there! We got him!''

 

Dean tries to gather his strength. His eyes turn black again, a low growl rises in his throat. When thick blood fills his mouth, he spits it on the ground, and mixed with the rain, it turns into a small, morbid lake.

His knees are diving into the mud, and despite the fire running in his veins, he hears himself sobbing softly. He does not want to die.

 

The Hunters are coming closer. He can hear the dogs running, the men breathing. Dean lets out a wail. He cries and he screams. ''Come and get me if you can!'' He shouts at them.

 

He sees their knives, and their guns, machetes, baseball bats, chains, hooks. Everything is there to kill the Beast. It will be slow and painful, and maybe he will see the dawn, but at what price?

 

They are not far now, and he closes his eyes, tries to calm down, to ease the fear growing inside him. Nobody will come for him, because if the Devil was dying, who would want to save him?

 

He lets the wind rock him slowly. He remembers a lullaby his mother used to sing to him, when he was nothing but an innocent soul, when his fate was not written yet. He does not remember every word, but the melody is enough, and it soothes him. He tries to fall in his mind, and forget the dogs, the Hunters, the pain to come.

He is ready to feel hands around his neck and fists on his skin, bruises growing like flowers on his chest.

 

He breathes deeply, and he is empty. **_He dies._**

 

 

Before the men can reach him, there is a flutter of wings, like a bird, and there is suddenly a sparkling, bright light around him. Two strong arms surround him, and he is held against a warm chest. Dean coughs and chokes on blood, and he cannot think anymore.

His eyelids are heavy but he fights against the slumber growing inside him, and he fights to raise his head. His eyes cross bright blue ones, bright even in the darkness.

 

Confusion and hope take him, and it is such a bittersweet feeling. There is a soft touch on his bare back, and his shoulders, and it feels like a warm and tender embrace.

 

His skull is heavy, and sleep is calling him. His head falls back on the stranger's chest.

''Butterfly...'' Dean murmurs.

 

_A flutter of wings. The breeze blowing. A gunshot. A scream._

**BLACK.**

 


	2. Quid Pro Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quid Pro Quo : Latin: "something in place of/(in exchange) for something."  
> Implies a reciprocal or mutual exchange relationship.

Lightning strikes. The ground shakes, the fire is all around. The trees fall, they fall on him. The sky is darker than the blackest night. The blood rushes to his ears, and it is a violent, awful song filling his brain. Hundreds of voices chant inside his skull, in an ancient, savage language. They mock him, point at him with bony fingers.

His head is torn apart, every inch of his skin burns like fire, and there are claws of ice digging into his bones, searching for gold, searching for the very dust of darkness, the purest metal.

 

The hounds of Hell sit at the Gates of his mind and scratch the dark wooden doors. He hears them, growling in the flames, and he cannot escape their blood-red eyes. They melt and they melt into his cells, and his blood shouts at the moon, explodes into sparkling glitter.

There is an itch under his skin and he wants to rip out his veins, throw them into the sky, cover the trees with dripping blue ribbons, rip all of them until he's nothing more than a bloodless shell, a pale ghost.

The wolves howl and he feels their fangs diving into his flesh, ripping the skin apart, their monstrous maws wide open. Their teeth chatter next to his ears, slobber trickling from their poisonous tongues.

 

Dean falls again and again, his body is heavy and incredibly painful. He screams and screams again and the pain will never stop. His bones break one by one, his eyes burn, his skin turns to ashes, his flesh melts into a disgusting, swarming puddle.

 

He is nothing but a wounded, dreadful animal crying into the night, walking into the streets of eternal damnation. Darkness eats him alive, bites his fingers, kisses him with rotten lips, licks his eyelids with a tongue of fire.

He is covered of cold sweat, and he still feels the poison flowing though him, like a vicious, brutal angel. Its wings of steel touch every bone, every muscle, and it is like a game. It flies to his head, touches his brain and says ''It's mine!'', then it flits to his heart and shouts _"_ Mine!" before it flutters to his soul and whispers, with a metallic voice, ''You're all mine.''

 

Sometimes he wakes from his agony and the room around him appears slowly, with soft shades of green and brown, and it is so warm and tender. He tries to raise a hand, grab a handful of that heat. But it runs like water through his fingers and the second after, he is back into a whirlwind of madness.

Sometimes he wakes and cold palms fly in front of his eyes, frame his face softly. There are bright blue eyes frowning at him, lips moving, but there is no sound coming out of them. At some part, Dean even saw a glossy black feather flying above his head, and he reached out to catch it. It felt smooth and pure in his sweaty, burning hands covered of dry blood. Was it real? He could not be sure, for his mind is a complete mess, and he is stuck in the eye of the storm.

 

He coughs, and blood fills his mouth, and he is drowning in liquid silver. He is dying and crying, tears of fire rolling down his cheek. The Mark burns on his arm, pulsing against his flesh, and the demon inside fights, pushes the poison far away.

 

At some point, he heard some words whispered to him, and even if he did not understand what the soft voice was saying, it was enough to soothe him. But his respite was short and the second after, a sharp pain blooms inside his shoulder, and something dives into the flesh, searching for the bullet. Dean moves and screams until his lungs burns, until the air is too heavy, until his own voice becomes unbearable.

Strong arms hold him down, all their weight on him. There is a last blow of pain, and suddenly it is over. He aches silently, panting, breathing hardly like a newborn. He opens his eyes and tries to speak but he is cut by soft, delicate fingers on his forehead.

A delicious, clear light fills him whole and he suddenly takes a deep breath, as if a storm of pleasure entered his lungs. The light flies to his bones, his heart, his soul, chases the dark angel away, throws the poison to the sea.

 

The pain is nearly gone, there is nothing left of it, but a black spark sleeping somewhere in his flesh. The voice is back too, whispering strange words and he feels like falling back into sleep.

A prudent hand lands on his head, and softly, opens up to let some fingers run through his short hair. Dean melts under the touch and lets the blackness take him whole. There is a sigh next to him, and something falls heavy on his body. The last thing he sees before he drowns into slumber is a head of thick black hair, warm on his stomach.

 

 

** \-------------------------------------------- **

 

 

Dean's eyes open suddenly. He is staring at a wooden ceiling, where different things are hanging, as well with long, sharp branches covered of bright green leaves.

 

He sits right on his bed, and winces when his shoulder gets hot of pain. He glances around him, frowning. He did not remember entering this place. It is quite small, the walls are covered of shelves weighing down under piles of dusty books and odd-looking bottles.

The air is warm and smells strangely good, holding Dean in silky arms. He is about to go back to sleep, and let the warmth swallow him whole, when a low voice resonates in his ears.

 

''You're awake.''

 

It is not a question. Dean turns his head quickly, searches his blade instinctively. He turns around, but the sharp bone is nowhere to be seen. He turns back to the voice, and squints. In the subdued light of the afternoon, because Dean is sure it is not the morning, it is difficult to see anything.

''Who are you?'' Dean hisses.

 

''Castiel.'' The voice answers, calmly.

 

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, tries to stand up. But the moment his feet touch the ground and he leaves the comfort of the bed, the world starts spinning around him, and he has to sit again, falling heavily on the mattress.

 

''If I were you, I would not do that again. You are still very weak.''

 

Dean ignores him and stands up again, a hand on the column of the bed. He feels the anger growing inside him. He does not like being weak in front of that stranger, who is probably enjoying the situation.

''You didn't answer my question. Who are you?'' Dean says and his voice is low, threatening.

 

''I told you-''

 

''No! What are you? What do you want from me and-''

 

Before he can finishes, the world is a swirling mess again. He starts shivering and his legs give away beneath him. The pain gets sharp in his arm, and he starts to fall. But before he touches the floor, the silhouette moves too quickly to be human, and catches him, circling him with warm arms.

 

Slowly, the stranger walks him back to bed and makes him sit. Dean blinks and raises his head to look at him. His heart jumps in his chest.

''I know you...'' He says as he squints, trying to focus on the man's – Castiel - soft features.

 

''Yes.'' The dark haired man answers, without batting an eye. He checks on Dean's bandage and winces when he sees the dark blood starting to bloom on the white fabric. His hot breathes feel like storms on Dean's face and something breaks in him. ''I know you've been following me.'' Castiel simply says, while he takes a roll of clean bandage, then rips it with his teeth. Then, he sighs and for the first time since Dean woke up, his eyes meet Castiel's. There is nothing threatening nor dangerous in his blue irises, just some calm, clear waves. ''I know you wanted to kill me.''

 

Dean's heart stops. Castiel stares at him like he was searching inside his mind, like he was a wide ocean to sound, a galaxy to explore. Dean clears suddenly his throat and shifts on his seat, moving away from Castiel.

''How do you know that?'' He asks carefully, suddenly feeling strangely ashamed of himself. After all, the man just saved him and a few hours earlier, Dean was ready to kill him.

 

''I felt it. Your desire to kill when you followed me. It was everywhere around you.'' Castiel answers, and his voice is soft, as if his words were as light as feathers in the wind. He gets up and starts cleaning up the room, his back facing Dean.

 

''But why did you save me?'' Dean asks.

 

Castiel turns around, and there is something intense in his eyes, maybe a touch of sadness, a sparkle of suffering. A gleam of despair. ''I don't know.'' He answers softly and his voice moves some chords in Dean's heart.

 

The demon frowns. ''OK, but if you knew I was going to kill you, why didn't you stop me?'' He says, staring at Castiel, incredulous.

 

''Maybe I didn't want to.'' The man says, and it is a blow in Dean's mind. For the first time, he is facing someone who is not afraid of Death, the big sleep. Castiel answered coldly, and his voice did not shake. His words felt numb.

 

Dean swallows hardly, and Castiel turns around. ''Well, it's a good thing you are awake now. I don't think this place is safe for you.''

 

Dean runs his fingers through his hair. ''How many hours have I been sleeping?''

 

''Actually, four days.''

 

Dean raises his head suddenly, making the house spin again in his eyes. ''What?!'' He shouts.

 

His blood starts boiling and the walls are suddenly too close, and it feels too much like a cage. His legs need to run, and he needs to feel the fresh air again.

''Well, you were really hurt, Dean. You were screaming in your sleep.'' The stranger says, worry piercing in his voice.

 

''Yeah, well, it was nice of you to play nurse but now I got to go. I need to find those bastard and make them pay.''

 

Something moves in Castiel's eyes, maybe some disappointment, maybe some sorrow, Dean is not sure. ''You cannot do that.'' Castiel says.

 

Dean raises an eyebrow. ''Why not?''

 

''The Hunters are still there. It's not safe for you to leave. Not now.''

 

''C'mon, just give me my blade! I'm not afraid of these-''

 

Dean stops, suddenly vigilant. He stands up slowly and Castiel starts walking to him, protesting. But Dean cuts him off, his head turned to the door. His eyes are wide open, his muscles tense. Far away, the leaves are crushed under heavy boots, the branches cut by sharp machetes. Far away, the dogs are running, leaving a trail of danger and violence behind them.

 

The Hounds are coming, the Hunters are ready. They got an insatiable hunger for blood and revenge. Their footsteps resonates in Dean's ears, and a shiver runs down his spine, a cold sweat covers his bare skin. His heart, fragile little bird trapped into a cage of bone, starts beating its wings furiously. He is not afraid, he knows he is bigger than this. But right now, he keeps remembering the hot blow of the bullet, the Hunters' cruel laughs, their deadly weapons shining in the moonlight.

 

There is suddenly a hand on his shoulder and he jumps of surprise. Castiel is staring at him, frowning. ''Dean, what's going on?''

 

Dean gulps and his fear gets stuck inside his throat. The dogs are probably smelling him from miles. He turns around softly, with mechanical moves. ''They're here. I can hear them. The Hunters.''

 

Castiel's mouth opens, his eyes widen. Dean waves his hand, brushing his words off, and starts looking for his knife. ''Don't worry, I'll leave and they'll come after me.''

 

''Dean...''

 

''That's fine, I'll survive. But thanks for-'' He gestures around him. ''Thanks for everything.'' He starts walking in the room, his eyes flying from the shelves to the bed, whistling under his breath to call the blade.

 

''Dean.'' Castiel insists, and the demon stops. ''If you go, they'll catch you and...'' He stops, shaking slightly. Dean notices he is really pale, looking weaker than in his memories. Castiel breathes deeply and his eyes are old, serious. ''They're coming after me too.''

 

''What? But why?'' Dean protests.

 

''They already knew I was living here, and they accepted to let me live, provided I didn't do anything wrong.''

 

''What? But you didn't do anything, you just saved me!''

 

Castiel stares at him without a word. Dean understands. **He** is the mistake. If Castiel did not save him, the Hunters would not be coming after him. Just by helping the Devil, the man got himself a ticket to the ride to Death.

''You can leave, Dean, if that's what you want. I doubt you will survive, but at least you can try.''

 

''I'm not gonna let you here.'' Dean snaps, and Castiel opens intrigued eyes.

 

''You were ready to kill me so why-''

 

''You saved me. That's all. I have a debt and I'll pay it. Now can you give me a shirt and my blade, _please_?''

 

Castiel pouts but moves quickly. He throws Dean a simple black shirt and the demon puts it on. Then, he opens a closet and takes the blade out of it, holding it like it was made of fire and storms. Dean smiles widely. ''That's my Baby!'' He shouts and the second the knife is in his hand, a fresh, pleasing energy runs through him.

 

Castiel gives him a reproachful look and Dean raises an eyebrow. ''What?''

 

''Nothing. What is this?'' He says as he points to Dean's arm, where the Mark is, red and terrifying.

 

''It's complicated.''

 

''Alright. Can I ask you something?''

 

Dean sighs. For a lonely freak playing knights, he is quite a talker. ''Yeah.''

 

Castiel tilts his head slightly on the side. ''Why were you talking about butterflies in your sleep?''

 

Dean's body freezes. He turns to Castiel, a poor smile on his face. ''Dude, I was out of my mind. I was dying, remember?''

 

''Yes, I remember. But that's how you called me when I saved you.''

 

''Alright, stop talking, Cas. I need to focus.'' Dean says, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, a smile grows on his face.

 

Cas makes a step next to him, and Dean can see he is smiling too. The guy may be weird, but suddenly, Dean feels grateful for not killing him. Something inside him moves, something he buried deep. A thin, clear wave of affection flies towards Castiel.

''What?'' Dean asks.

 

''Nothing. You called me Cas.''

 

''And?''

 

''I like it.''

 

Dean snorts with amusement, and gives Cas a look. If he focuses enough, he can see his aura floating around him, bright and warm. Dean found himself staring deeply at him, and in other circumstances, he probably would have spent a great night.

 

He still does not know the man well, and to be honest, he is not sure of his feelings. Something was off about Castiel, and the reasons of why he saved him were still obscure. Despite the burning attraction he felt, trust was still far away, and he was decided to discover Cas' every secrets.

And deep down, a part of him was still shaking, trembling of excitement. A dark, unmentionable spark inside him wanted to know how his blood would look like on the ground and on his hands, how they would fit around that revolting throat.

 

But before he can think further, the door slams open.

 

The wind comes into the room, blows the candles, turns the air heavy and glacial. Dean notices the night is falling, already covering the pines with dark velvet.

 

The dogs bark, growl. The blood is ready to flow. The souls are ready to fight.

The Hunters come and they are ready to take.

 

X 

 

''Well, look at that!'' The leader of the Hunters faces them, his brutal men behind him. Some of them carry guns, others knives, and even swords.

 

Cas moves forward, colors moving dangerously in his eyes. The Hunter gives him an amused look. ''No, we will take care of you later, little bird.''

 

Dean gives him a confused look, but does not raise the leader's words. His hand grips the blade tighter, his knuckles turn white as snow.

 

The Hunter's look flies to him, and he smiles widely. ''We came for this demon boyfriend of yours.''

 

Cas flinches and steps again between the Hunters and Dean, standing like a shield. ''Leave.'' He simply says and the night falls suddenly, like a blanket on the forest. In the same motion, the candles light up again, with tall, beautiful orange flames.

 

Dean cannot help staring at Castiel's back. There is such a force raging around him, a power flowing like a river from his body, and he feels so weak and useless next to him. His blade is a poor consolation.

 

The Hunters' leader has a little laugh. ''Listen, bird. You cannot protect him forever. Step aside and maybe we will spare you. For now.'' He says, as his eyes travel on Castiel's body. This time, it is Dean who flinch and his eyes turns black, as a low growl rises inside his lungs.

 

''I said, leave. Or I will have no other choice but to kill you.'' Castiel says, and his voice is cold as ice, far away from the sweet honey he used with Dean.

 

The Hunters start laughing loudly, and before either Cas or Dean can react, an arrow rips through the air. It flies above Cas' shoulder and before the demon can move his tired limbs, sinks into his chest, just under the heart.

The Hunter who shot has a satisfied smile, and lowers his bow of dark wood. Castiel turns, and his eyes cover Dean with a desperate look, as Dean falls to his knees, trembling of pain, growling of rage.

 

Suddenly, there is a blow of pale blue light, illuminating the house. The Hunters are projected outside the room, falling in the dust outside. Cas is still back facing him. Dean blinks and there is now a long, sharp silver blade in Castiel's hand. A beautiful, deadly weapon. Nearly divine.

 

Castiel walks slowly outside and his body is tense, his steps confident and determined, and everytime his feet touch the ground, there is a deafening thunderclap.

 

The Hunters scream.

The dogs howl and Dean can hear their heavy paws on the soil as they run away.

 

There is a new blow of light, and more screams. The air shivers, the room becomes scorching. Dean crawls, the pain in his chest growing. The long, golden arrow stuck under his heart sinks a little deeper every time he moves and his eyes are soon filled with tears of frustration. He is nearly human. He who spits on humanity, now reduced to the state of weakness and fear.

There is a noise outside, like a cloth flapping in the storm. The Hunters screams and Dean wonders what is scaring them to this point. He hears a blade diving into the flesh, and he would recognize the sound among million others.

 

When the silver tip enters the skin with a disgusting, sticky sound. When the blade dives through layers of muscles, pierces organs, breaks the smallest bones. He can even tell where Castiel touches them, just by the sound of the blood flowing, embracing the blade. There, it is the heart, soft and delicious. Here it is the lung, light and thin. Oh, there it is the throat, and the sound is pretty sickening, as the neck turns into a gruesome fountain. Dean closes his eyes to every sound, enjoying the macabre melody that comes from the bodies. He smiles, nearly taken by insanity.

 

But then his smile fades, and the pain is back, again and again. If he takes out the arrow, he blood will flow and he will die. He crawls farther and every broken piece of him screams.

He is about to whisper Castiel's name as a lost hope, when he raises his head and see something that leaves him breathless.

 

Under the pines and the dark skies, Cas is standing, motionless, the Hunters' corpses at his feet. His silver blade shines in his hand. He turns around. The night turns around with him.

 

Behind him, amazing, wonderful, dreadful shreds of darkness move softly into the wind. His eyes fall on Dean and he swallows hardly. He walks to the door.

His black wings cover the demon, and for the first time, Dean is scared.

 


	3. Stranger Than Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title + inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_50c8QZZyQ  
> 

''You're-you..'' Dean mutters, crawling back until his head hits the wall behind him. He grits his teeth and he raises a weak arm, his blade pointed at Castiel.

 

''Dean, please don't-'' Castiel walks slowly to him, like he was approaching a wild animal, his hands in the air. His wings are folded behind him, but they are still here, immense, terrifying, framing his body with long, sharp feathers. They nearly touch the floor and they shiver with every step he takes, moving softly in the wind blowing into the room.

 

''You lied to me.'' Dean hisses, and he feels the acid of hatred growing inside him. And there is this itch, this thing moving under his skin, whispering words to him. His hold on the knife tightens, and he stares at Castiel without blinking, and every sparkle of compassion towards his savior flew away.

 

''Dean, I'll explain you everything. But please, let me help you.'' Castiel says as he leans to him, his thin hands coming closer and closer. There is a threatening growl rising in Dean's throat, his teeth dives into his tongue and he keeps himself from jumping on Castiel and slits his throat in one move.

 

Castiel sits slowly next to him, and there is an unbelievable pain in his eyes, something Dean cannot comprehend. There is a lump in the demon's throat as he watches Cas carefully break the arrow. The wound may be painful, but this time the weapon does not seem poisoned. The Hunters did not want to kill him fast this time. Maybe the bullet was just a way to make him suffer for a while, and God knows what they would have done to him after that, if Castiel was not there.

 

''You're lucky. The wound is not deep.'' Castiel says with a small, sad smile. In a sudden move, he rips out Dean's shirt, and this one has a little nervous move, his body tensing up when Castiel's cold hands land on his hot skin.

 

Castiel takes the arrow between his fingers, moves it a little. Dean flinches and the pain is back, same old companion by his side. He glares at Castiel, and suddenly it is too much. All the pain, the anger, the rage flowing through him all these days. They become unbearable. They take too much space inside him, making him suffocate in boiling blood. The thrill of Death is shaking him, and his mind is filled with the darkest paintings.

As he watches Cas ripping the arrow out of his flesh, the last lights of his humanity disappear and he stares at Castiel with eyes colder than ice, with two unfathomable voids. When he takes the golden weapon out of his chest, the blood starts spurting like a thin ribbon and falls on the floor, and it is in a near slow-motion that Dean watches the drops crash on the wood.

Castiel puts the arrow next to him, the metal still stained with Dean's black blood. He seems to hesitate for a few seconds, before he puts a hand on the wound. Suddenly, his palm is filled with a golden ball of light, warm and soothing. It flows inside the crack in Dean's chest, fills his lungs with tenderness and it is almost unwillingly that Cas moves back, avoiding Dean's eyes.

 

He starts to mutter apologies but before he can even speak a clear word, he is suddenly laying on his back, Dean sitting on him, putting all his evil weight to keep him from moving. The blade is on Castiel's heart, and Dean's cursed eyes are on him, staring without a word, without an emotion.

''You're an angel, aren't you?'' Dean says, spitting his contempt at Castiel's face. ''That was your plan, right? You saved me so you could give me to your little family!''

 

''No, Dean I swear-''

 

Dean punches him in the jaw and Castiel has a strangled cry of pain, but he does not move, does not try to push Dean away. The demon screams and Castiel takes blows after blows. Dean threw the blade away, using his fists, until his knuckles are bloody and sore.

He grabs Castiel by the collar of his shirt. The angel blinks, trying to focus on his face, long trails of red blood coming out of his nose, turning his lips into bright wounds.

''Tell me the truth!'' Dean yells. The violence rushes inside him, and it feels like the most awful betrayal, the darkest crime. His heart aches, and he hates himself for believing, for a second, that he could trust him, that Castiel chose his actions.

 

Castiel breathes miserably, choking on blood. ''I don't belong to Heaven anymore.'' He raises his eyes to look at Dean, his wings falling behind him like shrouds of darkness. ''Saving you... was my choice.''

 

Dean takes it as a bullet straight to his heart. He blinks. ''You're lying.''

 

''No, I'm not. It's the truth.'' One of his wings moves, making Dean's head turns to follow the motion. At the top, there is a hole among the feathers, a wound, a scar from the Hunters. There is a flash of light in Dean's mind, and he remembers the gunshot and the scream he heard right before he disappeared with Castiel, when the Hunters were running after him.

No, this wasn't possible. There was no explanation. Why would this stranger - this angel, whose kind was hunting Dean's without showing any mercy, save him and take a bullet for him?

 

''You wanted to take my life away from me since you met me. And I wanted to save yours since the beginning.'' Castiel says as he turns his head to spit bright red blood. He turns to stare again at Dean and there is such a suffering in his eyes that Dean releases his collar and stands up, more uncertain than ever.

 

Castiel raises his head to look at him, and he is covered by Dean's shadow, by the darkness swirling around him. A tear rolls down his cheek, falls on the ground in the most perfect silence. ''If you want to kill me, please do it now.''

 

Dean shakes his head, incapable of saying a word. He lowers his head to look at his hands, and they are shaking. They are covered of angel blood and after all the time he spent craving to see it flow, he feels nothing but guilt, and what could be sorrow.

 

His mind is illuminated for a second and there is a glimpse, a spark of something he does not understand. For a second he remembers his soul being held tenderly in delicate hands, and he remembers looking around him, surrounded by the brightest galaxy, by a thousand of warm little suns.

He blinks quickly, not sure if it was a memory or just a fantasy of his twisted mind. He glances at Castiel, who crawled to the bed, falling heavily on the mattress, his wounded wing thrown across the floor.

 

Dean sighs, passes a hand through his hair. In a span of four days, his life turned into a mess, and now his heart is lost at sea. The guilt, the terrible guilt bites his soul and with a ghost on his shoulders, he leaves the house.

 

His steps resonate in the whole forest, the cry of an aching soul.

 

**X**

 

Castiel lies awake for hours, maybe days. He is not sure. He got up once, cleaned up his face, watched the blood fade into the sink. He went outside, and his heart screamed when he saw he was alone. Dean is gone, he left. The pain is so awful he went back inside and threw up, bile and blood, before he fell on the floor, miserable angel of glass.

 

Days pass by and he barely moves, eats, breathes. His face hurts, and he crawls to bed every day, hoping this will be the last.

 

One evening, he lies on his back, stares at the dark ceiling. His eyes are glassy, his soul shattering silently inside him. He turns on his side, the blanket heavy and suffocating on him. He holds it tight in his fist, holds back the screams of frustration and sorrow growing in his lungs.

 

He falls asleep, tears rolling down his cheeks.

_**So that is how it feels like.** _

 

 

** \--------------------------------------------- **

 

 

One morning, Castiel wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon. He sits on his bed, alert, looking around him. There is no one around, and the only sign of life is the steaming plate on the table, the soft scent perfuming the whole room.

 

He stands up slowly. Dean did not kill him in his sleep, after all. He feared and desired it every night. But he is still alive. Castiel raises a hand to his chest, searches the beating of his heart: it is still there, still pulsing against his ribs.

 

He sighs and passes a hand on his face, chasing the tiredness away in one move. He walks by his tiny dusty mirror and his reflection makes him stop. Apart from the dark bruises growing along his jaw and cheeks, he looks exactly the same as before. When he leans closer, he can see the discreet ribbons of grace moving under his skin, healing slowly the wounded flesh.

Outside, the sun shines from time to time, when it can pierce the heavy clouds covering the town. The wind beats the trees with violence, and they bend with a sound of broken bones. One of the window is open, the shutters slamming loudly on the walls, the curtains flying into the room like white flags.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, and the forest gets inside his lungs, full of scents, the air heavy of the coming storm: electric, moving, living. He walks to the door, opens it, and the cold breeze hits him, flattening his hair on his head.

 

He enters the clearing surrounding his shack, feels the woods coming closer as he closes his eyes. The Hunters' corpses are gone. No more blood, no more rotting flesh. Someone moved them, and it is not him, since he did not leave the house for days. A dark, acid resignation fills him, and he does not want to believe. This would be too good to be true.

 

He spreads his wings, first slowly to his sides, fearing that a sudden move would awake a sharp pain inside his bones. When he sees they are comfortably numb, he spreads them above his head, raising his eyes to see the largest feathers reaching the sky. Under the dull winter light, they appear blacker than ever, but closely he can sees the luminous shines on them, turning some of them dark blue.

He smiles, beating them slowly, watching the little storms they create on the ground, making whirlwinds of leaves and dirt rise above the ground. He would be forever grateful for the mercy his brothers and sisters had when he was cast out of Heaven. The fall was terribly painful, and he landed aching and bleeding, but at least, his wings were still there when he wandered on Earth, cold and lost, surrounding him like dark shields of stardust.

 

He turns around and his smile fades suddenly. Sitting a few feet away, there is Dean, sitting on the ground, back facing Castiel. He is not moving, and Cas could not tell if the demon knows he is here, or not.

 

Castiel walks slowly to him, flashes of the dreadful night filling his mind. His wings are covered by a shiver, and he folds them a little. He whispers Dean's name and the demon barely moves, only turns his head to his side, eyes closed.

Cas makes a few careful steps and finally faces him. With the same slow movements, he sits in front of him, examines Dean's face, until this one opens suddenly his eyes, making Cas jump slightly. Maybe because they are incredibly sad, or maybe because it is two green gems staring back at him, not empty voids of blackness.

''I thought you were gone.'' Castiel simply says.

 

Dean keeps staring at him. ''I'm sorry.'' He answers, calmly, coldly. But behind his mask, his soul is shaking, taken by an evil fever that makes him want to create a river of apologies.

 

Castiel blinks. ''You don't have to. You don't know me and I didn't tell you the truth.''

 

This time the mask breaks and Dean frowns. ''You saved me.''

 

''Will you ever let me die?'' Castiel says with a little laugh, moving on his seat of soil and leaves. A ray of light pierces the thick layer of clouds and falls on him and he shakes his wings, enjoying the warmth that slides on his feathers. When he raises his head, Dean stares at him, speechless, incredulous.

 

''That's not gonna happen.'' He says in a breath.

 

Now it is Cas' turn to be puzzled. The two of them do not move, stay for a moment staring at each other like their eyes were seas to jump in, rivers to wash your sins in. Dean's aura moves, red and black and dark thorns, and a thin ribbon flies to touch Cas', carefully. Roses blooms suddenly, Castiel's wings tremble.

''But why?'' The angel says, and his throat is dry, his words like whispers.

 

Dean does not answer. He leans and Castiel holds his breath when Dean's fingers touches his forehead, and a flood of pictures fills his mind. They are memories, old, dusty and warm. He sees through Dean's eyes, when his soul is burning and aching in the depths of Hell, when a cloud of light and stars comes and takes his hand to rise above the sea of fire.

 

When Dean moves back, Castiel is barely breathing, opening confused blue eyes. Dean shrugs and gets up, brushing his clothes. ''I don't know what this is. But it felt like they were related to you.'' He holds out his hand and helps Castiel getting up. ''Last night, I heard other Hunters. They're far away for now, but they'll find out what happened to the ones you killed and they'll come for us.''

 

He steps back. ''It's up to you. I can leave and you'll never see me again.''

 

''Don't.'' Castiel says, a strange fear inside his eyes, like the very thought of being left alone would kill him.

 

Dean blinks, not sure of what he should think. A few days ago, he was full of a devastating anger and ready to kill Castiel, and now he is ready to stay with him. He thought about it all night, chasing sleep away when his eyelids became too heavy and he walked in circles, and sat in the middle of the woods, putting his head in his hands. He could have left Castiel and the Hunters would have come and God, they would have been merciless.

He sat there and he was a mess. What if they tortured him, using the poisoned bullets, the sharp arrows? What if they ripped feathers after feathers, caressed the wings before they cut them off, leaving bloody stumps hanging on his back, walking away with them as a trophy? What if Castiel stood there, on his knees as the rain fell on him, cleaning the blood flowing like a river on his back, thick and bright red.

Thinking about these wings behind a pane, hanging on the Hunters' wall like a gruesome piece of art made Dean think there was probably crueler than him. He did not know where this desire of protecting his deadly enemy came from, but it was there now and it will not go away. It was probably a mistake, and he will probably regret it, and these memories were probably hallucinations, but for now, he follows what his mind is telling him.

 

Castiel is still staring at him, deeply as if he could read him like an open book. Dean turns back and starts walking to the house.

''If I were you, I would eat before it gets cold! I gotta do something after that!'' He stops and turns to smile at Cas, whose heart jumps in his chest like a bird in a trap. He knows this feeling too well.

 

** X **

 

''So, you're OK with me living here?'' Dean asks, his mouth still full of food.

 

Castiel, who barely touched his breakfast, nods. ''Yes, of course.'' Dean seems uncertain, and even Castiel does not know why he accepts. But the proposition was Dean's, and despite what happened the night before, he could not refuse.

 

''But I have one condition.'' Castiel adds.

 

''Yeah?''

 

''You make the food.''

 

Dean bursts out laughing, like it was the most hilarious thing he has ever heard. It is a real, loud laugh filling the whole room and Castiel cannot help, but feel a smile growing on his face at this wonderful sound.

A minute later, Dean stops, wipes some tears from his eyes, and looks at Castiel. ''Alright. I'll do that. But first, I've got to grab a few things at my place, and buy a few more at the store in town.'' He takes a last mouthful. ''You coming?''

 

Castiel nods again, and gets up. He cleans up the place a little, and throws Dean a jacket of red leather. While Dean dresses up, Cas stands in front of his little mirror and tries to see the wound in his wing. It gets painful when he touches it, and a few little feathers fall in his hand. He stretches his wings, about to hide them, before he realizes it does not matter anymore. _Dean knows._

 

He winces a last time and turns around, to see Dean staring at him, his eyes traveling along his wings. The demon gets all flushed when he realizes he has been caught and gets up. ''You ready?'' He says, avoiding Cas' eyes.

 

They leave the house and enter into the cold winter, and start walking the woods side by side. The forest is strangely calm, nothing is moving around. The clouds faded away, but the sky is still gray and monotonous. The trees shake their naked branches above their head, the wind pushing them violently. Dean put his hands in his pockets and tries to cover himself with his jacket, his chin on his chest so his face is mostly hidden by the collar. He keeps glaring at the bad weather, throwing silent slurs to the skies.

Instinctively, Castiel stretches a wing, ready to wrap it around Dean. Before he realizes the gesture is way too intimate, the largest feathers touch Dean's arm, and the contact is electric, giving both of them new blinding flashes of colorful visions that feel like memories. Castiel folds it back hastily and Dean glances at him, raising an eyebrow, but does not say anything.

 

The rest of the walk is silent, the only sound around is the wind blowing into their ears, and their footsteps on the cold ground. At some part, the forest opens up to let them see a lake, frozen as well. The sun shines on the pale surface, sending rays of blinding light on Dean, who covers his eyes. He starts walking towards the water, apparently ready to step on the dangerous surface.

Castiel stops him, putting a wing on his chest, forcing him to step back in a sudden move. Dean gives him a surprised look, before his eyes fall on the warm wing pressed against him. From where is, Castiel can feel Dean's heart, resonating inside the bones of his wings, tingling gently, and heat rises to his cheeks when Dean's heart starts beating louder, stronger. He folds back his wing slowly.

''We can find another way, Dean.''

 

Dean sighs and mumbles, but still gets around the lake to dive back into the forest, Cas on his steps.

 

About twenty minutes later, even if it felt way too short, and Castiel caught himself thinking walking with Dean was very peaceful, they arrive to Dean's place, a small wooden chalet, covered by the pines' shadows.

They get in without a word, and Dean takes a bag, before he throws different things inside. A bunch of clothes, guns, a bottle of whiskey...

Waiting for him, Castiel walks around the house. The place is rather messy, a thin layer of dust covering the furniture. This definitely looks like a demon's den: dark, cold, knives stuck on the walls, and Castiel can totally imagine Dean throwing them, anger pulsing inside his veins.

 

Hanging on one of the weapons, there is a necklace, a thin black rope with an odd looking head with horns. A soft energy surrounds the object, smells and feels like an old memory, like grass, and apple pie, and children’s laughs.

''What is this?'' Castiel asks, pointing at the necklace.

 

Dean raises his head and for a second, his eyes get darker, sadder. ''It was... it was gift from my brother.'' He answers with a lump on his throat. He walks to Cas and takes the said gift with delicate fingers, brushes against the metal with his thumb for a second, his eyes lost in space. Finally, he sighs deeply and puts carefully the necklace in his bag.

 

''I didn't know you had a brother...'' Castiel starts, already knowing the answer behind Dean's distraught look.

 

Dean swallows, avoids Cas' eyes. ''Hm...It's because he is.. dead...''

 

''Oh.'' This time Castiel cannot help. One of his wing reaches out to Dean, the feathers brush softly against the demon's arm and Dean's eyes follow the motion, before he stares back at Castiel. ''I'm really sorry, Dean. What happened?''

 

''You sure you wanna hear that?'' Dean asks.

 

He walks to his night table and opens a drawer. His heart stops when he sees a crushed small feather, black and glossy. The one he thought was a mirage only created by his feverish mind. Without paying attention, he kept it very carefully in one of his pocket and brought it home when he left Cas. He thinks for a second, before he shoves it inside his jacket, glancing at Cas to be sure he did not see any of his shameful actions. Fortunately, the angel does not look like he saw it, or at least he does not show it.

''Of course, Dean. This is a part of your life I want to know.'' Castiel answers calmly, and his wings shivers, and Dean is out of reach.

 

Dean closes his bag and throws it on the floor, next to the door. Then, he sits on the bed, wincing at his sore and cold limbs. The jacket smells like pines, and a discreet, sweet scent of honey. It is strange, and Dean knows the mixture would not be appreciated by everyone. A part of him thinks of his childhood, of the way the sirup created golden spider webs when his mom poured it on his breakfast. He remembers looking by the window and sees the dark trees behind the barriers of their yard. Their little house was surrounded by a forest, and he and his brother would often cross the line between home and wilderness. They would sit in the forest, listen to the sounds flowing around them for hours.

The other part thinks of Cas, how this soft perfume would remind him of the angel, in a strange way.

 

Dean chases his thoughts away, and stares at his hands and see they are twitching, shaking. A second after, Castiel sits next to him, his shoulder slightly brushing against Dean's. One of his wings is folded behind him, the other half open, behind Dean's back. In the corner of his eye, Dean can see the largest feathers, the sharpest ones, nearly touching the floor.

Dean sighs. ''He was my little brother. His name was Sam. We were very close, and even when we left home, we were always with each other, driving around.'' He stops, has a little one-sided smile. ''It makes me think of my car. I used to be crazy about it. But it makes me think of Sam, and now that he's gone...'' He takes a deep breath, holding back a strangled cry, blinking quickly as his eyes get glassy. ''I put it in a garage and never came back after that.''

 

Cas' wing curls a little to enfold Dean softly, and the angel presses his shoulder against Dean's to comfort him. He lets his grace flow around the demon, soothing him the best he can, and he feels awfully guilty to bring those memories back into Dean's mind.

The demon takes a deep breath again. ''About seven years ago, my parents organized a party. Sam... Sam just proposed to his fiancé, Jessica, and they were already planning the wedding. You should have seen them... They couldn't shut up about it.'' He has another weak smile. ''I wanted to buy them something nice, you know. I was an auto mechanic at the time, because being a demon doesn't really pay.'' He laughs, but it is a laugh without joy. ''I had found a car, and I knew they needed one. So I worked overtime and even in a bar at night, and I finally bought it for them. I fixed it all and that evening, I drove to my parents' house, so damn proud of myself.''

 

A tear falls on the floor. Dean's lips tremble and he should stop. He does not know why he's suddenly opening up to a stranger. If Cas is still a stranger. This blind trust scares him, and he still waits for the moment the angel with soft wings will stab him in the back, and maybe that will not be a bad thing.

He raises his head, wipes his tears. ''When I got there, the house was burning, and all I saw was flames, and ashes falling everywhere. The police found the bodies outside the house, aligned in our yard.'' He stops, his hands shaking so violently he has to tie them together. ''Someone killed them, then set fire to the house. And you wanna know the worst?'' He says, turning his head to stare at Castiel.

 

The angel nods, speechless. Dean does not look away. ''Sam wasn't there. But the police found his blood all over the woods.''

 

Castiel swallows hardly. ''Dean...''

 

The demon gets up suddenly, picks up the bag. ''It doesn't matter now. I've searched him for years, but now I know he's dead. And I have to live with that.''

 

He turns to Castiel. ''Got to move on, right?'' He says sadly. ''Besides, monsters aren't supposed to feel, no?''

 

Castiel gets up, a wing curling behind Dean's back. ''I have seen a lot of monsters, Dean. Believe me, you are not one of them.''

 

Dean blinks, Castiel's words and eyes disarmed him, even if the angel looks honest. The demon sighs, and passes a hand through his hair. ''Yeah, but you haven't seen it all.''

 

He walks to the door, and lets Cas pass. He gives the house a last look before he closes the door for good. He turns to Cas, who is staring at the skies. The clouds are still there but they let a pale sun shine. Dean looks at him, messy black hair and bright blue eyes, and immense wings of darkness.

 

He does not like what is moving inside his heart, what is twisting his guts around. He felt that before, but never this deeply. He shakes his head. He cannot let mad thoughts surround him. An evil attraction to the light, a fear mixed with admiration, that is all.

''I have a few things to buy in town. We stop by your place to drop this and then, I'll go.'' He pauses. ''Unless you want to go with me.''

 

Castiel has a little smile that makes Dean shiver. ''Always.'' The angel answers, before he turns around and starts walking, his wings outspread behind him. Dean follows him, a shiver covering his whole body when a feather brushes against the back of his neck, and when he turns, he sees Castiel is smiling at him.

The painful memories of his brother disappear, fly into the cold morning air, rise above to turn into soft, delicate rain.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

 

An evil laugh resonates far away, in the depths of the town. A silhouette emerges out of the shadow.

 

_Poison. White blood. Glacial fingers. Smooth skulls hanging on the walls._

 

She appears into the world, covers it with a scornful look. She is a wolf among the lambs.

 

_Blood, blood, blood flowing like rivers, roaring like the lions. White, white bones covering the ground. Dark, deep cave, glowing eyes looking at you. Hands around your throat, claws in your veins, here in the thickness of the fog._

_You are blind, you crawl on hands and knees, you beg for your life. Raise your head to the sky and pray to your God, while your eyes bleed and your bones rot. Faith is sickness, and nothing will save you from what is coming._

 

Her footsteps burn the ground, Her aura freezes the life around Her.

A man falls suddenly on the cold ground, his father tries to wake him, in vain. A mother's heart stops in her children’s arms. A car crashes from a bridge, the lovers drown and their screams are silent as their lungs burn like fire.

 

Her eyes are full of danger. By Her side, an automaton walks. No, it is a man, but oh, his heart beats so slowly, and his eyes are empty. His mind is full of clouds, his head full of lies.

 

_The sea swallows them whole. The ground shakes, the birds fly into the storm and their wings are ripped apart, and they fall. Waves of flames licking your skin._

_Nails diving into flesh. Bloodshot eyes. Weepers, sinners. Liars._

 

She tastes Dean's sorrow on Her tongue, closes Her eyes to savor the taste, like a strong, burning wine, a river of sweet warm blood. She closes her eyes, sighs of pleasure. Wonderful little drug, precious dark desire. Soon he will be in her arms, and they will become one. And they would love, if love meant anything real.

But for now, she walks slowly, brushing the pavement with his dress of night. A man arrives in front of her, opens wide eyes, let them travel on Her body, and they shine of a repulsive lust. His child is talking to him, but he barely listens, breathless in front of the evil vision.

 

_Agony. Irony. Pity._

_No Mercy._

 

Amara smiles. She brushes against the man, and before he realizes, he is raising a hand to his heart, as black veins grow on his skin, as he starts to suffocate, while her daughter shakes his hand, screaming of fear.

 

_You called me._

 

_H e r e   I   c o m e…_

 


	4. Hypnos and Thanatos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hypnos : God of Sleep  
> Thanatos : Dæmon personification of Death

''Can I ask you something?''

 

Dean raises his head. They have been walking for a while now, after they put their stuff down at Cas' place. The weather turned into a nightmare: giant black clouds cover the sky, and a cold, brutal wind swept the sun away. The pines bend over the violent caress and their lament can be heard all around. Something electric moves in the air, trying to dive under Dean's skin.

For minutes, the two men walked without a noise, enjoying the warm silence between them, the spark of trust growing in their hearts. The storm around them was enough to fill the void of their words.

 

Dean glances at Cas, who had to fold his wings behind him, for they were beaten by the merciless winter. ''Sure. But I can ask you too.''

 

Castiel nods, searches his words for a second. Gently, he points at Dean's right arm with the tip of his wing. Right where the Mark is, pulsing under the demon's flesh. ''What is it?''

 

Dean lowers his head, passes a hand over the scar, instinctively. He seems a little uncomfortable with the subject, but he still takes a deep breath. ''It's called the Mark of Cain. Once in a while, a random demon is born with it. It's very powerful, and the guy is supposed to become the leader of his family, and protect them. When he grows up, he chooses a weapon, so the power of the Mark is divided in two. For me, it's my blade.''

Dean stops talking, like he was about to confess something shameful, something he is not sure he wants to reveal. He breathes deeply again, filling his lungs with confidence and forest rain. ''But the Mark is also very dangerous, and if you have it, you got to learn how to control it. Usually, there's no problem.''

 

Cas glances at him, and his eyes cross Dean's. Bright green turned dull under the gloomy skies, his jaw is clenched, his lips are now a thin pink scar, a pale rose on his face, full of sorrow and bitterness.

''When my family died... I lost control.'' Dean starts, a lump in his throat. ''It changed me. I wasn't me anymore, I was the Mark. I couldn't stop killing, it became the only reason I was still breathing. Every day, I woke up and for a second, everything was fine. But then I remembered again and again, that my parents, my brother, my home, my life... All of this was gone.''

 

He looks at Cas once again, and the angel is still staring at him, silent. They started to walk closer, and ended up shoulders pressed against each other. When Dean started to feel the weight of the world coming down on him, and his look dropped on the soil, Cas guided him like the brightest star in the darkest night.

''I only found peace in hunting. Blood was all that mattered. But one day, these damn Hunters came after me and I realized I was ready to die. So I let them shoot me.'' He has a joyless smile. ''I was dead, finally! But then I opened my eyes again and saw the Hunters standing in front of me. I remember thinking Hell was strange. And then I felt it. My heart was beating. I was alive again, and the wound was gone. I was so damn angry, and I thought that the whole world was against me for letting me live.''

 

Castiel's heart stops for a second, and his legs become so weak he almost falls. His breathing gets rapid and painful, his mind full of awful questions. Dean does not seem to notice his sudden rush of emotions, and gives the ground a little kick.

''I saw the fear in their eyes, and before I could think, I killed them all. And then I ran away for years, thinking I could change if I was far away from this town. As you can see, it didn't work. So I came back a few months ago and everything was the same.'' He stops for a second. ''Until you came.''

 

He looks at Castiel, a thin smile starting to grow out of nowhere, but it soon fades away when he sees the angel walking next to him, looking at the ground. His wings are held low, the long feathers hanging down to the dust. His aura is pale, far away from Dean's, as if Castiel was keeping it close to his body, searching for some warmth, and Dean realizes the angel stepped aside, leaving a cold hallway between them.

Dean frowns, and pushes Castiel softly with his shoulder, closing the space between them. Cas raises his head slowly, his eyes empty of any emotion. He blinks, and looks around him, as if he traveled for a minute, and snapped suddenly back to reality.

''You OK?'' Dean asks, making a ribbon of his soul fly around Cas, and it snakes around the angel's arm, and shyly wraps itself around his fingers.

 

Cas shivers. ''Yes, of course.'' He tries to smile to Dean but the demon is not blind. But before he can say anything, the angel speaks again, like nothing happened.  ''I don't understand. When I was in Heaven, we were told demons were born bad. That they were meant to kill and bring despair and suffering. But you told me you and your family had a normal life and that you never killed before they were gone, right?''

 

Dean eyes fly to the horizon. ''Yeah, I'm not gonna say we are saints. But none of us were born bad. Some us chose to be evil, but most of us try to have a normal life. My dad was a demon, but my mom and brother were humans. That part of humanity in me, that's what kept me sane. They kept me sane. When they died, the demon in me took all control.'' He looks at Castiel. ''But yeah, we are not all evil killers. You just met the wrong one.'' He pushes Cas softly, and the angel answers with a soft laugh.

 

''I would not say that.'' Castiel answers, and the weight of his words falls on Dean, who cannot help but feel the heat growing in his heart. He laughs with the angel and despite the stormy atmosphere, the air is light around them, like a thin bubble of silk.

 

''Alright. My turn. Tell me about these wings of yours. Do all angels have the same wings?'' Dean says, and he raises his hand to gesture around them, but his fingers accidentally brush against the feathers, and they feel warm and tender under his touch. Bright visions illuminate his bones, turn his blood into soft, sparkly gold. Dean nearly jumps of surprise and he removes his hand hastily.

 

Cas' wings beat once, nearly happily. The touch felt electric, growing inside him like a storm, spreading like a fire inside every feather, every bone. A blow of colors fills his mind. He shows no reaction, but inside, a whole garden of gold and silver blooms.

''No, each of us has different wings. They can be white, gray, brown, or even gold. Their size, and their shape can change too. They are very important to us: wings are angels' most precious weapon and we are grateful for them. I heard that long ago, if an angel was found hurt or dead on Earth, humans would try to take some feathers, or cut the wings. They believed they had powers of healing, or they could trade them for food or weapons.''

 

''They cut wings for food?! That's just sick!'' Dean exclaims.

 

''Dean, you would have do the same. These people were desperate.''

 

Dean sighs. ''How can you have so much faith in humans?''

 

''I have faith in every being.''

 

''Even if they are evil?'' Dean asks, realizing too late the question may sound a little too personal.

 

Castiel turns to him and his eyes are warm again, they shine like clear gems in the pale light. ''Yes, I have faith in the darkest corners of this Universe, and maybe it will cost my life. I find beauty in everything, and I will not stop believing in anyone.'' He stops, and his heart beats a little too loud. ''Good things do happen, Dean. Don't you believe it?''

 

Dean stares at him, and he realizes he do. If anyone told him he, a demon of blood and scars and broken bones, was going to meet an angel, he would have laughed forever and more. But now, he do realize he believes in light, that the short time he spent with Castiel changed him in the deepest way.

He swallows hardly. ''Maybe. But enough about me. Do you feel anything with your wings? I mean, are they like hands or legs or... ''He stops, thinking he probably sounds idiotic to Castiel.''You see what I mean!''

 

Castiel smiles again. ''Yes, like hands actually. They are very sensitive. I feel everything on them. The wind, the rain, the sun. I felt the bullet when the Hunters shot me. It hurt me like a normal wound.'' He stops, and blushes slightly. ''Our wings are very personal. Touching an angel's wings is very rare, and usually, only other angels are allowed to do it. It is very pleasing, but very intimate. It can be a sign of respect, but it usually shows a deep, profound affection. Like love.'' His eyes get lost into space. ''But very few of us ever experienced such a feeling. It's forbidden.''

 

''Oh.'' Dean says in a breath. ''But why?''

 

Castiel lowers his head, focuses on his feet on the ground. ''We are the highest beings in the Creation. It means we cannot be close to anyone, we have to stay pure. Moreover, we are warriors, we are not meant to feel. We have to obey and fight. Falling in love with a creature, or a human... This angel would be cast out of Heaven.''

 

Dean remains silent and motionless, like a beautiful statue. Castiel tries to smile at him, in vain. A few words saddened him and his heart aches, his wings burn on his back. He has been craving affection since he landed on Earth, and despite being fallen and not living under Heaven's rules anymore, he never tried to find any kind of emotion in someone else. Maybe he is too busy waiting for something that will never come.

''Cas?'' Dean asks suddenly in a husky voice.

 

The angel raises his head, his eyes meet Dean's. ''Yes?''

 

''Did you fall in love?''

 

His voice is gentle, compassionate, but Castiel's whole body freezes. His wings stiffen, half open on his sides. Dean's eyes are still on him, swallowing him whole like oceans, like fields of sun. They are so close and yet, it feels like the demon is on the shore, and him, drifting forever into the deepest seas.

 

''Yes.'' Cas' voice is calm, his grace is shaking.

 

Dean holds his breath, Cas' sorrow and pain floating around him, jabbing his skin with sharp little knives.

''Is this... is this why you've been cast out of Heaven?'' Dean asks.

 

Cas stares at him without a word, his wings dropping slightly behind him, feathers covered by a shiver. His aura is tainted of a painful blue.

Dean steps to him. ''I'm sorry, that wasn't-''

 

Cas shakes his head. ''Don't be. I promised I would answer your questions.''

 

He starts walking again, slowly, and Dean follows him, still puzzled. A question burns his tongue, and he feels evil for putting Cas is so much suffering.

 

Castiel seems to feel it and he turns to look at him. ''Dean, just ask.''

 

The wind gets stronger, the sound of the city closer. Dean takes a deep breath. ''Where is she now?''

 

Castiel stares at him, with blue, glassy eyes, his aura moving around Dean like a galaxy. There is something inexplicable about him, an old mystery made of stardust and feathers covered of white blood, shaking Dean's soul like an earthquake, like it is the end of the world.

Castiel's eyes dive into Dean's. ''I lost **him**.''

 

He stares at Dean, and the demon realizes they are too close, and he can feel Cas' divine breaths on his face. Castiel looks at him like the very sight of him was causing him the most awful pain, breaking his heart like glass. His eyes fly over Dean's face, and Dean would swear the angel moves a little closer. Cas' grace bites his soul, gently, throwing a sea of grief above him, and the tip of his wings curls around them.

Dean holds his breath, and he has suddenly an irrepressible desire of touching Cas. He wants to brush against his face, wraps his arms around him, runs his fingers through the soft feathers of his wings.

 

But before he can reach out to him, Castiel moves back suddenly. ''We should keep walking.'' He whispers as he turns around.

 

Dean takes it as a blow in his chest. He stands there for a second, looking at the silhouette walking away from him, wings half open behind him. He exhales deeply, and follows him when a sudden fire hits him.

 He is not going to let Cas suffer in silence. He puts a hand on the angel's shoulder, and Cas' muscles are tense and sore. Dean faces him. ''Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.''

 

Cas sighs, and his body melts a little under his touch. ''It's nothing. I asked you about your family and the Mark. It's much worse.''

 

''No.'' Dean says, making Cas raise confused eyes to him. ''You didn't deserve what happened to you.''

 

Castiel frowns. ''Dean, you didn't deserve what happened to your family. How can you think that?''

 

''Maybe I did. After all, I'm a demon. I don't deserve happiness. But you, you never thought of hurting anyone. You've been punished for your feelings.''

 

Cas opens his mouth to answer but Dean cuts him off. ''Stop worrying about me. And as I said, we have to keep going.''

 

He presses Cas' shoulder once more and restrains himself from taking him in his arms. He smiles at Castiel, and they start walking side by side again, one of Castiel's wings open behind Dean's back, to protect him from the cold. Or so that is what he tells himself.

 

**X**

 

Covered by the woods, they face the town.

 

At first sight, it is just a field of gray houses with frozen roofs, surrounded by poor squares of pale grass. Rusty gates keep the strangers and friends away and a few dogs are sitting next to them, waiting for the thrill of the day. Their eyes are almost as empty as their masters'.

Talking about them, the inhabitants walk the streets, staring at the concrete ground, hidden behind layers and layers of cheap clothing. Some severe voices resonate in the town, calling way too happy children running the pavements, waiting for the fresh rain to wash their monotony away.

 

A few shops are open, throwing dull neon lights on the ground. The cars pass by slowly, like a sea of black and gray. The air is thick like mud, and there is no scent, no warmth, just this invisible cloud stuck on the city. The humans are ghosts, their steps are slow, undecided. What if they jump under that car, right now? Would there be any point, any spark if they did it? Would they let temptation and fantasy control them?

Silly question. Of course they would not do it, they would keep bearing the weight of life on their shoulders, acting strong because in their stubborn mind, choosing Death over the great, luminous Life is a terrifying act, a proof of weakness. And God, they cannot be seen as weak, not in this world. What would the neighbors say?

 

Castiel has a little smile. Despite their odd ideas, humans are fascinating to watch. Like stars that would stop their journey, they stop in the darkness and wonder. How unpredictable, wonderful life was, and yet any of them wants to know the taste of End. But they would always brush these dark thoughts away and keep walking among the light, knowing they would turn into ash and dust one day, but they would keep walking, always. The big Sleep, that was something more dreadful than the idea of a lonely, monotonous life.

 

Dean is also staring at the city, and both and them can hear the strange crackling of evil flying around, embracing this little faded world with black, sharp claws. Cas can feel Dean's blood pumping loud, his skin itching, the monster inside him already imagining his fangs diving in human's flesh.

''So, I won't be long, just wait here for me.'' Dean says, already starting to walk to the road.

 

''Why would I do that?'' Cas answers, following him.

 

The demon turns back and gestures at Castiel, at his shiny wings, so black they look like they have been covered with soot, with the darkest material the Universe can make. ''Unless you're planning to go like this...''

 Dean blinks, and the second after, the wonderful wings are gone. He opens wide eyes and looks at Castiel, speechless. ''What- what happened?!''

 

Castiel smiles at him, and what could be a little glimpse of amusement shines in his eyes. ''You have seen me without my wings before, Dean.''

 

''Yeah I know but it looks... It doesn't look like you.'' Dean mutters, his eyes still searching for the familiar shape behind Cas, dropping on the floor like dark flags of night.

 

''Don't worry. They are still here.'' Cas answers back, and before Dean can think, he is pushed by an invisible force, something soft and powerful at the same time. When Castiel starts walking next to him, he still feels the feathers brushing against his jacket, his neck. When he turns, he sees Cas gently smiling at him, all small crinkles framing his bright, bright, incredible bright eyes.

 

They cross the road in a few steps, and as they enter the glacial air of the small shop, Dean thinks they probably make an odd pair, or maybe it is just his point of view. He still feels like a stranger in a strange land, in some way, a broken, rusty tool walking side by side with a celestial being, a creature of light and softness.

 

Dean knows what he wants. He takes a basket and grabs a few products for himself, before he starts throwing food inside. He chooses quick things he can prepare for both him and Castiel. He realized Cas probably did not care much when he searched something to make breakfast this morning, and his heart aches a little when he remembers the angel huddled up on his bed, shivering, his wings folded on him like a heavenly cover.

Dean wonders what it is like to not live alone, always hidden, always covering his feelings with violence and blood. What it is like to let someone pierce the veil. Instinctively, he thought of Cas when he thought of this blinding future, and he frowns, puzzled by how his heart beats so loud. Even if it does scare him, he cannot help but feel strangely fine thinking about the time he will share with Castiel, of his life in the angel's little house, protected by the shadow of the pines.

 

When he is done, he starts searching for Castiel, letting his soul fly above the sections, searching for a sparkling, pale blue one. He first hears his voice before he sees him. It is a low, deep sound ringing in his ears, in his mind, driving him crazy, and he is sure he could follow it into the dark.

 

Castiel is talking with an old lady, who visibly enjoys the company. The woman gestures to something in front of her and suddenly, Cas' little, clear laugh fills the space and there are roses without thorns growing in Dean's skull, and he stands in the middle of the section, speechless, staring eyes wide open at Castiel, his stomach dropping in the dark.

 

He shivers and walks silently to Castiel, who sat in front of a little cage which has been open. When Dean is finally next to him, he sees the center of his attention. In front of Cas, there is a small puppy with a fur as black as night. His minuscule, glowing eyes follow Castiel's every move and when the angel reaches out to the dog, the animal sticks out his tongue, shyly licks his fingers. Castiel has another laugh, warm like honey and clear like bells.

''Look Dean, I think he likes me!'' Castiel says as he raises his head to look at Dean, who blushes suddenly when he crosses deep blue eyes.

 

''Can't blame him.'' Dean answers before he can even realize what he is saying. Castiel gives him another smile and focuses back on the dog, and Dean mentally curses himself.

 

''He is the last of his litter. All of his brothers and sisters have been adopted, but it's been days and no one ever took interest in him.'' The old lady says, and her eyes are full of a gentle pity when she looks at the little dog. ''I think it's because he is more violent than the others.''

 

Dean looks at the little fluffy ball, now pressed against Cas' chest, burying his tiny head in his shirt. ''I see that. Terrifying.''

 

He reaches out to the dog, scratching gently his head. ''A real Hellhound.'' Dean adds with a little laugh.

 

In the strangest way, the puppy's pointy ears turn to Dean, like his words triggered something in the little beast. For a second, his eyes flash bright red, and his fur feels like soft flames under Dean's touch.

While Dean takes the dog in his hands and holds it against his chest, smiling widely like a child, Castiel stares at him. He feels his heart melt, his body get warm and comfortable. His eyes get slightly glassy of joy and he stops himself from touching Dean, from getting any closer. His wings beat once and Dean raises his eyes to him when he feels the fresh breeze on his face. Castiel's gaze breaks something in him and they stand like this for a minute, drowning in each other.

 

Finally, Dean speaks but his eyes do not leave Castiel, and the angel is swallowed whole in fields of bright green. Crystal clear oceans stare back at Dean. ''Well, I think he just found home.'' The demon says, and for a moment he does not remember if he is talking about the dog, or himself.

 

The old lady's eyes kept going from Dean to Castiel then back to Dean, and a tender smile grew on her face. The two of them turn to her and she gives the puppy a last caress, smiling softly like a mother. She passes a blue collar around the dog's neck and looks back at the two men. Castiel gives Dean a surprised look when Dean puts the dog in his arms, his fingers lingering a bit too long on Cas' hand.

The woman sighs dreamily. ''You make a wonderful couple.''

 

Dean turns suddenly to her and heat rises to his cheeks. ''No, we are not- we.. we are just... friends.''

 

Are they even? They barely know each other. And yet, a bittersweet feeling grows in Cas' chest as the lady apologies and Dean tells her not to worry. A part of him is burning bright when he heard Dean calling him a friend, but the other broke at the same time.

 

They walk to the checkouts and get in line. Dean turns to Cas, who is still stroking the dog's soft fur. Castiel raises his head to look at him. ''Where do you even find your money?'' He asks.

 

''You don't wanna know.'' Dean answers, and for the first time, he looks slightly ashamed, as if stealing money was the worst thing he has ever done.

 

Castiel gives him a disapproving pout and Dean elbows him in return, causing a little laugh from Cas. ''Well, because you're so smart, how do you find yours, hm?''

 

''I work at an animal shelter.'' Castiel answers, leaning to Dean as if it was a secret.

 

Dean rolls his eyes. ''Angels...'' He says falsely exasperated, but a smile blooms on his face. The dog even has a small bark, making both of them laugh.

 

Dean's stomach hurts, and he does not remember the last time he ever laughed that much. Happiness felt like a long lost memory, a bottle thrown to the sea forever. And yet, there it was, filling his cold heart like liquor.

But this joy turns into a fire paralyzing him when Castiel, still laughing behind him, puts his head on his back, just between his shoulder blades. The angel buries his face in the warm leather and Dean does not move, stops breathing. The touch is so innocent and pure, and yet breaks his soul into small pieces, and he is nearly shaking, illuminated from the inside.

Castiel stopped laughing, but he cannot step back, and leave this soothing bubble of silver light. The jacket started smelling like Dean, like blood and sugar and Castiel takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. He feels Dean's motionless body against him, and he feels the looks of the other customers on them.

 

He slowly moves back, and his grace is ripped from Dean's soul, and it is nearly painfully that he stands next to him, leaving the warmth and softness of Dean's aura. The demon turns slightly to him, and his eyes are shining with tears like transparent pearls. He swallows with difficulty and Castiel notices he is shivering violently, his body shaken by emotion.

When it is their turn to pay, Castiel stands behind him and smiles politely to the cashier who looks at them with a nearly disgusted look. Castiel ignores him and discreetly, lands a hand on Dean's arm, making his grace flow in his bloodstream. He feels guilty: a simple touch of affection hurt Dean, felt like a sickness in his bones, and his heart jumps when he realizes it would be better to never do it again. Even his powers seem to be useless now.

 

Dean takes out a few bills and when he raises his head, he sees the cashier narrowing his eyes as he still stares at Castiel, contempt illuminating his face like poisonous flames. The demon frowns and the air grows colder around him.

''You got a problem?'' He snaps, making the man jumps on his seat.

 

The cashier takes the money and hands Dean the change. ''Nah, just be careful with this kind of people. They're just sick.'' He nearly spits at Castiel's face.

 

A sea of rage moves in Dean and his eyes flicker to black in a second, going beyond his control. He leans to the man, ready to grab him by the collar. ''Say that again!''

 

The cashier's heart starts beating furiously, like a war drum in his chest. Cold sweat starts covering his forehead and he swallows down hardly, muttering incomprehensible words, his eyes widening of horror.

''Dean.'' The demon turns around to look at Castiel, and his irises turn green again at the softness of his voice.

 

''What?''

 

''We should go.'' Castiel answers. ''This man must had an exhausting morning.''

 

Dean raises an eyebrow, incredulous. Cas' voice turned sugary and hypocritical, his smile hiding the power of a thousand suns and a thousand winters.

 

Dean steps back and there is an invisible flash, a silent sound of glass breaking and thunder hitting the ground, and for a second, Cas' wings cover the horizon, wide, terrifying, like sharp black knives. He is surrounded by pale blue flames, his eyes are ablaze like swirling ponds of light and birds. His silver blade shines in his hand and his grace takes all the space, making it hard to breathe, and it is like trying to swim in smoke and ashes. Castiel lowers his head, stares in the man's soul and whispers foreign words to him, low, deep, threatening. Thousand of voices promising years of torture in the darkest corner of Hell.

Dean wants to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He cannot help but shiver at the powerful, dangerous side Castiel is showing, and he would gladly be destroyed by this storm. He realizes Castiel is not a fragile, broken little bird you can step on. It would be madness to think that way. No, he is incredible, he is beyond everything Dean can imagine. He is nuclear, he is a Sun, a whole galaxy about to explode and burn every other world around. He is everything but angelic.

 

The cashier has a high pitched scream and stares at Castiel with wide open eyes, as the customers behind them looks at him, confused. What could have scared this man? They see nothing but a blue eyed man holding a tiny puppy and smiling widely at his friend as they walk to the exit side by side, brushing against each other.

 

Once outside, Castiel puts gently the puppy down and raises his head when Dean suddenly bursts out laughing. ''Remind me to never piss you off!''

Castiel answers by a wide smile and Dean puts the bags down, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. ''His face, his-'' Dean starts before a new have of laugh cuts him off, and it is so loud people turn back to look at them, frowning. What an arrogant ray of sunshine, what an awfully wonderful sound!

 

Before Castiel can even realize, his heart stops, his breathing is silent, and there is Dean against him, leaning his head on his shoulder, burying his face in his neck as he laughs uncontrollably. One of his hand is gripping Cas' shirt and he holds on the slightly rough fabric to get his sanity back.

Cas barely breathes, and Dean's short hair tickles his skin, his devilish warmth surrounds him, his smell is all over him. His wings open suddenly above his head, every feather shivering of a new, burning sensation. His fingers fly to Dean's arm and his fingers land softly on his jacket. Bright visions follow the touch, and Cas has to take a deep breath to keep control, otherwise he would throw himself into the embrace and collide, and let himself burn like a bird into the Sun.

When Dean steps back, he wipes out his eyes but does not stop smiling. Cas' hand falls back on his side and his fingers feel cold, numb. His mind screams but he cannot say a word. He wants to reach out and takes Dean back against him, begging him to not leave.

 

Dean leans to take the bags again. Castiel shakes his head and starts walking to the main place of the city, where a small fountain brightens the gray. sea. The puppy follows him carefully, and Cas helps him getting on the edge of stone and sits next to him. He breathes deeply and tries to calm his distraught heartbeats.

Thin rays of sun pierce the clouds and create ribbons of colors on the water, dancing in the dull morning. His eyes get lost into space, and there is nothing more than this heat, this scent, this laugh haunting his mind, mocking him, driving him crazy. It is a never ending day, a star burning so bright it keeps him awake at night, leaving him bloodless and empty every morning. And at the same time he keeps running after it, chasing it until the birds start to sing, until his feet are nothing but open wounds.

 

His thoughts are interrupted by a gentle voice. ''Excuse me, is this your dog?''

 

Cas turns to see a tall man smiling widely at him, pointing at the little wolf sitting next to him. Castiel cannot help smiling back, like the man's glowing joy is contagious. ''Can I?'' The man asks, gesturing at the puppy.

 

''Yes, of course.'' Castiel answers, and the stranger squats and his smile widens even more as he starts caressing the dog's soft head, and the little animal melts under the touch.

 

''Hello, you.'' He says, as he passes his fingers through the thick fur, and his long hair falls on his clear eyes. He raises his head to look at Castiel. ''What's his name?''

 

''We just bought him a few minutes ago, actually.'' Castiel answers, and a part of him does not want to choose. Names hold too much power. Once you name something, or someone, it haunts your mind, and when your life is as old as the Universe itself, it is too much pressure. Names and names forever written in blood letters in your skull.

 

The man smiles, and Cas sees how soft his aura is, a nice shade of brown-gold, like whiskey. ''I've always wanted a dog, but my... sister won't let me.'' The man says, and there is a little hesitation in his words, a little frown darkening his eyes. He seems lost for a second before he gets up again and turns to Castiel.

 

''I should go, she is probably waiting for me.'' He says, holding out his hand to Cas, who shakes it. The touch is just like the man, warm and friendly. ''Thank you.''

 

''You're welcome.'' Castiel answers and his wings have a happy beat, enjoying the calm breeze the man seems to carry with him, like a cool and soothing summer afternoon.

 

Suddenly, a few feet away, there is a thud.

 

Castiel turns, and his smile fades, replaced by worry. Dean is standing in front of them, the bags at his feet. There is a look of pure astonishment on his face and he keeps staring at the stranger, his lips trembling of emotion. He makes a few steps and is now just next to them. He has hard time breathing, and he does not blink, covering the tall man with a haunted look, like he is his worst nightmare, the one that keeps coming night after night.

''Dean, what's going on?'' Castiel asks, touching the demon softly with his wing, but Dean ignores him, pushes him with a soul cold as ice and it is a winter wind brushing against Castiel.

 

Dean has a strangled cry and his green eyes are full of tears. ''Sam?'' He asks, shaking, burning, freezing.

 

Castiel turns to look at him, confused. He tries to communicate with him again, throwing a soft ribbon of grace towards him but Dean pushes him again, violently this time and Castiel steps back, putting a hand on his heart, like he has been stabbed with a burning poker. He has a little cry of pain and his wings immediately wrap themselves around him, protecting him from another blow.

 

Suddenly, a feminine voice resonates in the empty place. ''Sam!''

 

A tall, thin woman, wearing a long black dress walks to them. She nearly slides on the ground, her steps lighter than the wind. As she gets closer, the tip of Cas' wings starts prickling, itching like caressed with sandpaper. Far away, the ground shakes, lightning strikes, thunder becomes deafening. Ears and eyes bleed, and the soul itself turns black, and falls to ashes.

There is nothing human about her, just a sick, monstrous energy surrounding her, coming closer and closer. Castiel thinks quickly. Even if she called the stranger, her steps seem to lead her to Dean, who is still standing there, staring at the tall man, his mouth open but no words coming out.

 

The stranger frowns and for a second, his eyes are illuminated, like he was suddenly going to smile again and shakes Dean's hand vigorously, pulling him into a tight hug.

 

But the dark woman arrives and she puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Castiel would swear he saw long, sharp claws dive into his flesh. He winces of pain, and she glowers at him. He soon puts his numb mask back on, like a good puppet.

''Excuse us, we have to go.'' She tries to take Sam by his shoulders, but he is like stuck on the ground, like a statue of marble. He and Dean are staring at each other without a word, and the demon looks like he is about to shatter on the ground, like a beautiful mirror, a fragile glass, and blood-red wine is about to come like a flood, like a devastating wave.

 

''Sam..'' He repeats, rising a shaky hand.

 

Castiel gets closer to him and catches the woman's look. An evil fire burns in her eyes, as she stares at Dean like she could walk on him, smash him and turn him to dust. Fear and anger takes Castiel, and he moves to interpose between the two of them. For the first time since he arrived, Dean looks at Cas. He is puzzled, weak and awfully vulnerable.

 

The woman moves again, and Castiel shivers uncontrollably. Just under her collarbone, there is a red, swollen mark he knows too well. He spreads his wings wide behind him, protecting Dean from the woman's sinister aura. Her eyes follow his move and she looks at him with a predatory smile.

 

Dean repeats Sam's name, as the other starts walking away with the woman, blinking confusingly. Dean tries to push Cas, but the angel stands like a pyramid on his way. Dean's touch is electric, and it hurts Castiel like a hurricane, wiping everything away. The tall stranger finally speaks and his words turn Dean into a sea of sorrow and despair.

 

''I'm sorry. Do I know you?''

 

The woman takes him by the arm and walks away, her dress floating proudly behind her like the flag of Death and Chaos.

 

Castiel turns to Dean, and the demon tries to run after them, but Castiel stands in front of him. Dean throws all his evil strength to push him away, and Castiel takes blow after blow, lets Dean's poison flow through him and he bites his tongue to keep a deafening scream from coming out of his throat. Tears of frustration and agony comes to his eyes but he forces Dean to look at him, framing his face with trembling hands.

''Dean, Dean look at me!'' He shouts, his vision getting blurry, his limbs dangerously numb. ''Dean, we have to go. Now!''

 

The demon blinks, and a tear rolls down his cheek, as his eyes fall on Castiel. He seems to see him for the first time and his heart jumps when he feels Castiel's fresh hands on his skin. He shivers and nods, and lets Castiel take his arm.

 

The angel turns around but the woman is already gone. He helps Dean taking a few steps and glances around him. His whole body hurts and flying in this moment would bring him any more suffering.

Still, Dean is incapable of walking on his own, and when he looks at him, the demon is staring at the ground, a painful, terrifying sorrow threatening to swallow him whole.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath. There is no one around. He leans to take the small puppy in his arms, and the dog rolls up into a ball against his chest, shivering.

 

Castiel beats his wings, and the second after, they are gone.

 

**X**

 

The wind blows colder than ever. The same evil laugh resonates in the town. Clear eyes blink, confused, memories coming as blinding flashes. The man opens his mouth to scream but there is suddenly a hand on his shoulder, on his mouth, on his eyes.

 

A breath after, he is silent again and smiles at her. She smiles back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "non mortem, somni fratrem"  
> latin for "not Death, but his brother Sleep"


	5. The Ghost In Your House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title + Inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMrZSidHID4  
> 

They are swallowed by flames. The air is thick like smoke and it gets inside their lungs, burning the castle of their thoughts like a cruel dragon, its wings of steel slicing their throats, watching the life flow away. They swim in an ocean of fire, a sea of damnation and never-ending sorrow.

 

They crash on the ground and this time, Castiel cannot hold back the scream of pure agony that grows inside his throat. It fills the space around them, makes the forest shiver. The nature stops breathing and listens to this sweet lament, this song of pain and tears, this melody of blood and aching souls.

They landed on the smooth wooden floor of Castiel's house, and yet, it feels like he fell in the mouth of a voracious volcano, and thousands of teeth dive into his body, rip his flesh apart and the beasts look at him with bloody, disgusting shreds of skin and muscle hanging in their maws. He tries to chase them, but they bite again and again, devouring him avidly with sticky sounds.

 

He raises his wings to protect his body, but the monsters jump on them, claws scratching, turning the wonderful celestial gifts into puddles of feathers and smashed bones. Castiel screams again, and his throat is dry, hot like a desert. The pain keeps digging in his back, making its nest in his backbone, snuggling into the blood that keeps flowing, and it rains on him. It is everywhere, bright, red, shiny, the taste fills his mouth and he chokes.

 

His ears ring, all Heaven and Hell calling him into their arms, ready to rock him with delicate hands, before they throw him into a golden cage and mock him, pointing him with silver swords. “You deserve it!” They would say, laughing, spitting on him, on his hair, in his eyes, and he would step back into a corner, begging them to stop.

 

“Nothing is cruel enough for you.” The voices would say, whispering into his skull, chanting in a foreign language. The voice would turn into a thin, pale silhouette, wearing a dress of darkness. A cold smoke would surround him, and a hand would land on his cheek and the darkest eyes would stare at him, full of contempt and cruelty. She is a haughty, capricious divinity and wears a crown of thorns. Her throne is made of broken bones and broken dreams, rivers of red screams and mountains of white flesh. He would beg her to kill him, to end this pain, and she would start to raise a cruel, bony hand, his salvation. But she would stop her move and lean to him and whisper “You aren't even worth the effort.”

 

And she would hit him, turning his blood into lightning and his skin into a storm, letting red marks bloom across his face of celestial porcelain. She would turn into ghostly fairies, running around him, laughing and their voices would resonate in his head, driving him crazy, slowly, carefully. They would run in circles, chanting, screaming of pleasure and pain under the full moon. They would hide in his lungs, pierce them like morbid balloons with their fingers of ice. They would wear his guts around their thin necks, his veins around their wrists like gifts from their dead lovers. Their butterfly wings would brush against him, and their long silver hair would snake around his arms, creatures of the frozen world underground.

Whispers would resonate in the void of his own mind, and he would fall on his knees, his tattered wings falling behind him like poor flags claiming “I want nothing but the end of this Chaos!” and the voices would answer “You are Chaos. It is your father, your brother, your lover!”

 

He would scream and his wings would spread above him, throwing blue blood on the pines. He would join his hands and pray but the skies would be silent, as always. He would start crying, and painful, shameful sobs would grow inside his chest, and he would cry rivers of prayers under his breath, tears rising in the moonlight, rain from the earth.

Here comes the light, white and blinding on his face. The drums are whispering in the background, discreet breaths singing with them. He would look at them and ask “Why?” in a weak voice.

 

The laughters would explode like furious fireworks, and he could only see smiles of sharp teeth. They would clap happily, sitting on the edge of their seats, roaring like lions. Everyone came to see the Broken Angel trying to believe, shaking his ridiculous wings of paper, praying to a Father long gone. They put a golden halo above his head and it starts to float softly, shyly. But then, it would turn into a ring of fire, and the crowd would open wide eyes of excitement.

“Suffer, Angel! If you are what you pretend to be, suffer!” They would shout into the night, pale grace and black smoke mixed into a swirling ocean rising above him.

 

The ground would shake, the moon turn bright red, and they would hold their breath. He would raise terrified eyes to the sky, only to see the trees falling on him, and it's the end of the show, time to bury his broken body in the dirty soil.

They would sigh and leave, ready to reach home and fall on their bed of faded dreams. They would let warm alcohol kiss them with arrogant lips, and watch it turning into a transparent, golden silhouette with silky fingers and hot skin, let it circling their hips with its thighs until their forget their own name. Their dignity would fade too, but they would pretend the contrary, everyday.

 

Castiel would lay alone in the woods, and there would be no white churches covered of roses, no clear bell ringing in the town. No brothers singing their sorrow, letting their immaculate wings cover him. No grave to embrace his divine flesh. No God in this jungle to bless his aching soul.

Just a hole, a circle of fire where monsters swim, and worms come and eat his grace away. Yes, pale worms crawling in the mud, making their home in his rotting skull, in his yellow bones.

 

What is he now, if not a gruesome body covered by roots and rain? In the end, being born in the skies does not change anything, he is going alone on this path, the path to the Great Empty. There is no light at the end, no hand reaching out to him, no warmth soothing his grief. Just a dusty, gloomy, dull shadow floating above him. A ghost holding him without affection. It is a duty, not a choice. Because who would choose to carry this faded, crying piece of glass, this angel with no wings and a broken heart, trying to put his pieces back together?

 

“No one.”

 

The creatures of pale shadows are back, and he crawls further in his cage, his back pressed against the cold golden bars, his body shivering like the winter came, stabbing him with its sword of ice. He shakes his head. “No. You are wrong.” He says, knowing his mouth tells nothing but lies, lies haunting his days, his dreams, his tears.

The fairies twist, their faces become dreadful masks. Their bodies of evil light melt on the ground, leaving a swarming pond. Suddenly, a silhouette rises from the silver puddle of guts and flesh and takes a deep breath, before her look falls on Castiel. It is the goddess again, terrifying in her dress of shadows. “Don't try to deny it, Castiel. Deep down you know I'm right.” She is far away, the woods behind her, protecting her! Oh the traitors!

 

But then she faces him. He cannot step back, and her hands are around his throat, forcing him to get up, before they frame his face. Her venomous lips twitch into a cold smile. The Mark on her chest glow like a red, abhorrent moon rising, sharp like a knife in the night sky.

 

Castiel closes his eyes and he feels all his strength leaving him. Calloused hands now flutter like butterflies on his face. An arm snakes around his waist, and he is pressed against a strong, warm body. He takes a deep breath and dares to look. His heart jumps when his eyes meet bright green ones, and his soul shakes when full, poisonous lips put a gentle kiss on his mouth, hot breaths of gold filling his body. He sighs of relief. He is about to surrender, and collide, and turn to dust into these loving arms when a sharp pain blooms in his chest.

His eyes open wide, and the demon keeps kissing him, making him drown in a sea of desire and incredible suffering, barely letting him breathe. He represses a sob and raises confused eyes. His body stiffens when he sees cold, empty black wells staring back at him. The man leans closer to him but only to dive the blade of bone deeper in his flesh, and Castiel tries to hold onto him.

 

Dean takes the weapon out of his chest, and the blood spurts out like a firework. He pushes him violently and Castiel falls on the ground. He is trembling, hot of pain. Dean watches the blood dripping from the blade, like hypnotized. Then, he moves slowly and dives his eyes into Cas'. “She is right, you know.” His silhouette is shaking, like in a dream, flickering under broken lights. “You're nothing.”

 

Castiel's heart stops, and he cries without shame. “No, no... you don't think that.” He whispers, a hand on his bleeding wound, the other trying to reach out to Dean, to grab his arm and find his dark light back, to let it shine again inside him.

 

Dean's cold mask answers him and the demon steps back slowly, still facing him. Amara is suddenly next to him, lands a finger on his arm and black veins grow on his skin, destroying his beautiful face. His green eyes, his bright fields of spring, are gone and two voids stare at Castiel and shakes something awful in him.

Amara's hands are all over Dean, but he does not move. He has a smile, not a frightened smile, but a bright, joyful one. He turns his head and kisses Amara, and for Castiel the vision is not only repulsive, it is a beast eating his heart in a mouthful, creating a black hole inside him, and there is no more light, not even a spark. The stardust in his bones is sucked, and he is falling from the inside.

“End him.” She whispers against Dean's mouth, his fangs still diving into the demon's lips, and blood flows like a thin ribbon. He turns to Castiel and Amara steps back slowly into the Darkness, each of her steps like a thunderclap in Cas' body. He raises his head to look at Dean, and this one leans to him, puts a strangely gentle hand on his face, strokes it for a moment with his thumb.

 

“Poor little Cas.” He says, and his low voice makes Castiel shiver. The Mark pulses on his arm, terrible, glowing like a fire. His fingers linger on Cas cheek, make their way on his lips but fall suddenly on his side.

 

“Dean...” Cas starts but his mouth is filled with thick black blood and Dean watches him choke without blinking. Instead, he sits and takes Cas' head against his chest, rocking him softly like a child. The warmth coming from him surrounds Castiel and he breathes deeply into the fabric of Dean's t-shirt. The evil heat fills him whole and he lets the fire destroy him slowly. His heart beats like a caged bird behind his ribs and he feels Dean's pulsing strongly against him.

 

The demon strokes his hair, lets his hands pass through it and watches his pale fingers among the blackest silk. The silver light of the moonlight falls on them, illuminating Cas' head with a false halo. Castiel silently cries, already knowing what is coming. “Please, Dean...”

 

For a second, Dean's arms tighten around him, and he would swear he heard a strangled cry coming from him. But then his hand dives into his chest and rips out his heart, violently, without any softness. Castiel's mouth is wide open and in the most ironic way, he is still alive. His grace tries desperately to fill the gaping hole, as he watches Dean walking away, his bloody broken heart in his hand.

 

“Cas?!” A voice screams, and it sounds like his Father's, his brothers', like the voice of Life itself. His tears fill his wound, and Dean's footsteps are still echoing in his head. He lets slumber embrace him but there is suddenly a blow behind his closed eyelids, a bright flash of colors.

 

“Cas?! CAS?!” He knows this voice, this low, deep melody. It should soothe him but instead, it is shrill screams filling his skull. Electric hands touch him, trying to burn him alive, and he jumps, crawling away from this force.

Dean looks at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, completely destroyed, his sorrow framing his body of gold. His hands are still raised in the air and Castiel realizes he is a few feet away.

 

This touch, this sound. That was Dean all along.

 

“Cas… I'm so sorry..” Dean whispers and his voice is just a breath, a silent cry for forgiveness. He lowers his head to look at his shaking hands. “I never wanted to-”

 

He collapses on the ground, sitting on the smooth surface, letting his tears flow. Castiel tries to breathe again, his back against the wall. He sees Dean's aura shaking around him, shattering silently. His grief is deadly, and Castiel is still trembling of fear and pain. Dean's powers are incredible, admirable even. But his sorrow took all control and, to protect him from self-destruction, his body threw all these possessive emotions away, and Castiel happened to be the perfect vessel. Dean's inner darkness turned into terrifying paintings filling Castiel's head, and he felt everything, even his own death, the soil in his mouth, Dean's venom on his lips.

Dean is still on the floor, shaking uncontrollably of cold and sadness, his head buried in his hands. The fire inside Cas' chest starts to fade, only leaving burning embers on his lungs, the visions blurry in his head. His wings surround him like a shield and a part of him wants to fly away, leave this cursed town, this cursed forest, this cursed love.

 

But the other breaks when Dean caresses the little dog, burying his face in his fur, soon soaking it of tears. He looks incredibly vulnerable and human and Castiel takes a deep breath. His mind is screaming, but his heart, this sick fool, this insane liar, it cannot accept it. Castiel moves slowly to Dean, reaching out to him with a thin ribbon of grace, and his soul tastes sour and spicy.

Castiel sighs deeply and a second after, his arms are wrapped around Dean's shoulders, and the demon raises terrified eyes, tries to push him with his soul, causing a wince of pain from Cas. Dean opens even wider eyes and tries to move away from the angel. “Don't touch me. It's not safe.” His face is sadder than the sea a day of storm, sadder than a dying star. “I don't want to hurt you. Not again.”

 

Castiel does not speak but crawls back to him, and Dean does not fight. His head falls heavy on Cas' chest, and the angel holds him tight against his chest, letting his fingers swim in Dean's short light hair. The afternoon is barely rising but Castiel wishes the night could fall on them, wrapping them in soft, starry velvet.

Dean shakes in his arms and he buries his face in Cas' neck, and the angel opens his wings, let them enfold Dean, creating a bubble of warmth around them. Dean sobs silently now, completely exhausted, all his strength gone in the wind. If Castiel's pain feels like the end of the world, like a sun crashing down, he cannot imagine what Dean must feel in this very moment. Or rather, he knows it too well.

 

The memories? Gone. Like ashes, like the moon, like the birds, like the stars. No one shares his burden, he has to carry the weight of his broken heart by himself, and it is heavy on his shoulders. He wishes he could throw it away one day, get over it and starts breathing again.

 

But he lost the most precious part of his soul, and miracle! He found it again! But only to see there was nothing left of these idyllic times.

Gone. Like smoke.

 

Dean lost his brother. Castiel lost his lover.

 

And Castiel knows they are both very alike, that they can share their pain without limits, that they do not even need words anymore.

 

Except Dean must hold on a vision that is already fading, on a false hope. Castiel can hold it in his arms. Right now. These memories, they sound and taste like low murmurs, bright clear eyes, and a soul where roses grow.

He is suffering like never before, it is such a bittersweet feeling. His eyes get lost into space as he still caresses Dean's hair. Castiel starts humming words in angels' language, and he holds Dean closer. The song seems to soothe Dean, his body becoming as heavy as a stone, as warm as a sun about to explode. His tears are dry on his cheeks.

 

Eventually, Castiel will help him take off his jacket and walk him to bed. But before he can crawl back and crumble in some dark place, Sleep makes his eyelids close and he falls asleep next to Dean, still holding him tight against him, his wings like a heavenly cover around them. Above them, their souls float, a fresh blue one and a black one, and they swirl, dance, explode, shift and shape around them like flowers blooming.

 

**X**

 

Dean wakes up against a warm chest rising slowly, before crashing back on ribs of sand like a wave on a summer day. The fabric against his cheek is slightly rough, but the touch is so soft and soothing he does not care about it. His face is buried in Castiel's neck, and when he exhales suddenly, surprised, the angel's whole body shivers, shifting its position next to him. Their legs are tangled like knots, and in his sleep, Dean threw an arm around Cas' waist, and there is no more space between them. Heat rises in Dean's face and he moves slowly, and faces Castiel.

The angel looks peaceful. His breathing is slow, calm, his eyelids flutter from time to time like butterflies. Dean stares at him, and how long does he stay like this? He could not know. Castiel's soft features mesmerize him and shamelessly, he observes black strands of hair falling on Cas' forehead, flying softly when he breathes. Right now, Dean only see the finely crafted bottle, but he knows a storm is raging inside him, and Castiel could snap his fingers to turn him into a heap of ashes. But in this moment, Dean tries to put the dread apart and enjoy the forbidden feeling. Castiel moves, one of his wing folded neatly behind him, as the other unfurls to cover Dean, and despite their incredible span, they are as light as a cloud.

 

Sleep leaves Dean like a lover in the morning, and Life fills him again. His muscles become sore, and he starts to feel a little too hot: the fever of being alive itches under his skin, and his blood is boiling happily. He glances around and sees the room is illuminated with a pale, clear light. But not an afternoon light, warm and nearly suffocating. No, it is fresh, tainted of blue and pink, carrying the scent of pines and snow with it.

He lays on his back and the feeling of safety surprises him. He feels alright, even good. The sheets are pleasantly cold, the sun shines softly in the room, piercing the thin windows framed with dark wood. The wind blows around the house, humming like a lost spirit. The little dog curled up into a ball at the edge of the bed, and is snoring silently. Castiel moves in his sleep and gets closer, his head on Dean's chest. If Dean shuts his eyes until there is no more light in his skull, he can imagine the strong smell of coffee filling the house, the pie cooking in the oven, his feet covered by warm golden sand, the sea shining blue and green on the horizon. He can see the pines surrounding his house, the laugh of his brother as they run until they collapse on the ground, breathless and beaming.

 

But suddenly he realizes and a heavy rock falls on his chest. These memories belong to the Past, this witch diving claws and fangs in his brain, ripping bloody pieces of happiness. He is completely awake now, and his head is illuminated of red, sirens wailing.

 

His brother is there, he is right there, maybe just a few miles away. He can feel his bright brown aura floating around the city, wandering. But when he tries, he cannot reach out to him, there is a wall standing between them. A wall of moving shadows and screams. 

The worst part was not the fact Sam did not recognize him, not really. It was rather the spark in his eyes, for a second, the glimpse that twisted Dean's heart around. For a second, Sam frowned and he was lost in the deepest confusion, as if a voice was screaming in the back of his mind, but it disappeared suddenly, like muzzled. After this, Dean was facing a stranger, an automaton smiling politely at him. And like it was not enough, his demon side snapped and every fiber of his being became electric, his touch poisonous. All his sorrow, all his anger shaped into a tornado, and flowed into Castiel's veins, causing him the most terrifying pain. He does not know what the angel saw, but he cannot get his frightened face out of his mind.

He feels the sadness filling him whole, like he is just another empty bottle on a shelf, and God does not know what to do with his rivers of despair. So He just pours a little into him.

 

Just like he is about to take a deep breath to stay calm, disheveled, sleepy Castiel raises his head and dives worried blue eyes into his. “Dean, what's happening?”

 

“Nothin'.” Dean mutters before he throws the sheets away and gets up suddenly, leaving the suffocating softness of the bed. The dog raises his head and has a small bark, but Dean does not pay it attention. He walks to the nearest window and opens it suddenly, leaning to let the cold air enter his empty lungs.

 

The sorrow is gone and made room for a heavy feeling of pure emptiness. He passes a hand on his face, buries his eyelids into his palm for a second, and wishes it could be this easy. Close your eyes, and the pain is nowhere to be seen. Just a comfortable feeling of nothing, a peaceful silence. Sometimes he wishes he was born blind and deaf. Lucky is the one who does not see what he has to lose.

He hears Castiel getting up and a second after, he feels him standing behind him. For long, eternal minutes, they stay like this, silent and motionless. Cas does not try to speak, and after the events of the night before, neither does he try to touch him when he is upset. He tries not to rush him, and waits for the right moment to talk.

Dean is staring at the woods, like they could whisper secrets to his ear. He speaks with the voice of a ghost. “We have to talk to him.”

 

Castiel frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 

Dean finally turns and look at him. His eyes are empty and full of suffering, bright and faded. “Sam. We have to talk to him.”

 

“Dean, this woman… She did something to him. She is very dangerous...”

 

“I know. But we can't let him like this! He thinks she's his sister!” Dean nearly shouts, making Cas jumps. He softens and sighs deeply. “I can't… I know he's right there but I can't do… It's killing me.” Cas raises a wing to brush against Dean's bare arm. The demon's eyes linger on the feathers on his skin and he shivers. “I'm… I'm sorry about last night… I didn't mean to...” He starts before Castiel cuts him off.

 

“It's nothing, Dean. It wasn't your fault.” He says gently, before he walks to the kitchen and starts making coffee. Dean realizes he is starving, now that he sees clearer. He walks to Castiel and leans against the small table, and he cannot help but smile weakly at the improbable situation in front of him: an angel preparing breakfast, wings half open on his sides as the coffee maker splutters loudly.

 

“It's not nothing, Cas.” He murmurs.

 

Castiel turns back. “I've seen worse.” He says with a smile, and Dean blinks, confused.

 

“Exactly!” Dean says, and Cas' face becomes serious again, a mask of marble. “You saved me and what did I do in return? Hurt you because I can't control my damn feelings?!”

 

Castiel steps to him, so close he can now feel Dean's breaths on his face. “Dean, you don't owe me anything. I saved you because I wanted to, not because I wanted something in return.” His eyes become sadder, different shades of blue swirling. “You just found out your brother was alive, but that he was now a stranger. I think I can understand that.”

 

A part of Dean wants to answer “No, you can't.” But the other cannot help but notice the sorrow floating in those clear eyes. He could not comprehend it, the way Cas was looking at him sometimes. Like he was hurt, like the simple fact of having Dean in the same room was breaking him inside, like there were things Dean did not know. Castiel would often have this tender look over him, making Dean shiver. You could not look at someone like that, no. You could not pretend any creature on this Earth had an ounce of affection for someone like him.

He sighs and sits down, and Castiel takes place in front of him, putting two cups of dark coffee in front of them, and the smell would drive Dean crazy. “So, what are we gonna do?” The demon asks, sipping carefully the hot beverage.

 

Castiel passes a hand in his hair, leaving it even messier than before. He looks like he has not slept in centuries, and Dean wonders if angels dream. What could they possibly be dreaming of? Heaven?

“I don't know. We don't even know where he is. And if he will accept to talk to us.” Castiel says, giving Dean a compassionate look.

 

The demon frowns and pushes his already empty cup. “He will.”

 

“Dean, he doesn't remember you. Whatever this woman did to him, he lost all his memories.”

 

“I know.” Dean sighs deeply, dejected. “But we have to try. Maybe if I talk to him about our past...”

 

“It could be very difficult to him. You could change his whole world. He believes this woman is his sister, and that he had a life with her. You cannot come and tell him he is living a lie!”

 

“But he is!” Dean says, incredulous. “It's my brother, and two days ago, I thought he was dead! I can't let him like that!”

 

“Dean, I did not say you were wrong. I said it would be very delicate, and we cannot save him without a plan.”

 

“We find him. We kill this bitch. And we're done!” Dean shouts, his aura shaking of anger and frustration.

 

Castiel shakes his head, beats his wings once, softly, making dust rising above the floor. “You don't understand. This woman, she is not human.”

 

“Then what is she? A vampire? A demon” Dean thinks for a second. “An angel?”

 

Castiel pouts, and glares at Dean. “I feel offended.”

 

Dean has a little laugh. He did not imagine the angel being touchy. “Alright, she's no angel. Then what?”

 

“I don't know. It was strange. She was neither a human nor a creature. There was something very dark around her, very powerful.” He frowns. “What I don't understand, is why would she take any interest in your brother. Are you sure you never saw her in your life?”

 

“I think I would remember.”

 

Castiel glances at him, confused. Dean is playing with his cup, eyes lost into space. When he feels Castiel's eyes on him, he raises his head, dull and tired forests staring back the angel.

Dean sighs. “I don't know, I know I never met her. But...” He shifts on his seat ill-at-ease. “I felt attracted to her.”

 

Castiel's heart drops in the dark, is smashed like a mirror on the ground. His reaction must be really strong, because Dean sees the shock painted on his face, turning his skin as white as snow. Dean shakes his head. “No, not like that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Castiel murmurs softly, a lump on his throat.

 

“It was like I shared a bond with her, that there was some kind of connection between us. It's like she was calling me or something. And-” He stops, feeling the heat of shame and doubt grows inside him. “-I wanted to come with her.”

 

Castiel's mouth becomes dry and he stares at Dean for a minute, without a word, too shocked to speak. He protected Dean from that woman, but what if he did not want to be saved from her? What if this dark, odd attraction between them was real and she could turn Dean into her puppet, her new favorite toy?

Cas swallows hardly. “Do you think it's because of the Mark?” He says, already dreading the woman will suddenly open the door and take Dean with her.

 

Dean stiffens. “What about it?”

 

Now it's Castiel's turn to be puzzled. “She had it. On her chest.”

 

Dean blinks. “But… but you told me she wasn't a demon.”

 

“She is not. I recognize them, just like I knew you were one when I first saw you.”

 

Dean gets up and takes his cup and Cas' one. He pours some coffee in them, watching the sweet-smelling liquid flow and fill the small space, like an ocean of dark energy. He gives one to Castiel, putting it carefully in his hands, and his fingers linger on Cas' warm skin. Dean shivers and sits back.

“How do you recognize a demon when you see one?” Dean asks. “I mean, I couldn't tell you were an angel, until I saw these wings of yours.”

 

“Our nature is hard to perceive. Only other angels, or prophets, know if they are standing in the same room as an angel. But we can know what someone is just by looking at them. Usually because of their souls.

 

“Their souls?”

 

“Yes. Just like I looked into this woman's soul, I saw the darkness in her. Demons have dark souls, but they are bright at the same time. They are powerful but not threatening. Yours is very somber, almost black. But it's also a little green, and sometimes it turns red, when you are angry.” Castiel squints a bit at Dean. “Oh, and there is a little gold on the edges. It's very beautiful.”

 

Instinctively, he lets a ribbon of his own grace fly above the table and touch Dean's shoulder gently, watching the small red roses blooming under the ethereal blue light. Dean has a little laugh and Cas looks at him, confused.

“You do know I can see that, right?” Dean says, gesturing at the little thread wrapping itself around his soul.

 

Cas' whole body freezes and he takes back the soul he let escape, and it snaps back to him like an elastic band. “What?” He blurts.

 

Dean's smile spreads on his face, and there is a little glimpse of amusement in his eyes. “I can see souls too. I mean, it was not always like that and I never met another demon that could do it but-”

 

“It's impossible.” Castiel whispers, and he makes a filament of grace rise above his head. Dean's eyes follow it with the same calm. “Only angels can do that.” Castiel says, puzzled.

 

Dean smile freezes. “Really? But how-”

 

“You say it was not always there? You were not born with this ability?” Castiel asks, the light of realization starting to shine inside.

 

“No. Actually, it began after I died. I started seeing colors everywhere and that was kind of disturbing-”

 

Castiel's eyes open wide, and he seems to understand something. “Could it be...” He starts to mutter but his words are left unsaid.

 

“What? What is it?” Dean asks, but Castiel shakes his head.

 

“Nothing.” He says as he gets up to put the cups in the sink.

 

“What?! No! Tell me!” Dean shouts, but the angel ignores him.

 

“We have to find a way to get to your brother. I think I could find him, and know if he is alone.”

 

Dean sighs deeply. Talking with Castiel is like jumping in a train that is already going to the speed of light. “Alright, what is it?”

 

“I may locate him with an object that belonged to him, or that he touched.”

 

“The amulet.” Dean whispers and for the first time since he saw his brother, hope burns bright in his heart. “You think you could do that?”

 

Castiel nods. “Anything for you.” He answers with a poor little smile.

 

He starts walking to a little door hidden by ivy Dean did not see before, and what was, he assumed, the bathroom. Both his house and Cas' were abandoned for years, when young people realized they would rather live among noise and dirt than woods as silent as graveyards. But they would have still lived in them, and running water was not a problem. Just needed some heads rolling on the ground for some, silver blades under throats for others. _Sometimes._

 

Dean clears his throat, driven by a wild emotion. A mixture of hope and joy, and something he cannot put a word on. Castiel's words resonate in his mind. _“Anything for you.”_

 

“Why?”

 

Castiel stops and turns back, searching for the right words. They spin around in his head like a record, they fall on his tongue, and he tastes them, until he decides none of them would express what he feels. Instead, he pushes his grace in front of him, and it is an invisible wave hitting Dean, crashing down on him, singing into his bones. This is powerful, but tender, it tastes like honey and summer. It is pure and warm, covering him like a sun rising on a plain. Dean knows this feeling, but he cannot name it. He knows his heart was once full, but his memories are dusty, and he cannot find a way to them, swallowed by shifting sands.

He blinks, but Castiel is not there anymore, and he can hear the water running behind the closed door. He passes a hand on his tired eyes, and takes a deep breath. There is a fire coming, he can feel it pulsing inside his chest but this is not the right moment. He needs to focus on his brother, on a way to save him, to rip him from this woman's claws.

 

What will he do when he will be facing him? He cannot tell him the whole truth since the beginning, and Sam would probably not believe him. He has a little smile when he remembers his brother, always so stubborn and skeptical. Dean already imagines his face, if a stranger would come into his house and tell him his sister is actually an evil force that erased his memories, and that his real brother is a demon known for horrific murders, and is now living in the woods with a fallen angel. Said like that, it was sure sounding like the words of a man taken by madness.

 

Dean sighs deeply and walks back to the bed, falls heavily on the mattress. Face buried in the cold sheets, he thinks. He does not have any photograph of their parents, of their friends, of Jess. He cannot say that to Sam. He cannot tell him his whole family and his fiancé are gone for years now. He has to find another way.

 

As he breathes into the soft fabric that smells like forest and snow, a picture appears in his mind, bright and colorful. A glossy black car, swallowing miles of road every day, long and thin, simple but mysterious. A place that reminds him of old leather, and apple pies, and knives digging into the car, carving sharp letters into this moving home. His eyes open suddenly.

He has few memories left of his past, and even fewer he can hold in his hands, but this it. He has to get the car back, make Sam see it. Yes, his brother did not feel the same adoration towards it, but it holds so much of their past. The car is full of whispers and laughs, scents and visions. Maybe it would trigger something in Sam's blurry mind. Dean lays on his back, arms crossed under his head.

 

The bathroom door opens, and Dean turns to see a shirtless Castiel walking in the room, wings spread wide behind him, nearly touching the walls on both his sides. A few droplets fall on the floor, crashing heavily in Dean's ears. His eyes do not want to land anywhere but on Castiel's soaked wings, hanging from his muscular back. They come out of his skin, spurts out like odd dark flowers out of the tan flesh. As Dean observes the angel, he sees he moves them often, just the tip of the largest feathers, and it looks like he uses them to keep his balance. He opens a cupboard and takes a bowl out of it. He puts it gently on the ground, and a second after his silver blade shines in his hand, before he puts it next to the wooden container. He raises his head suddenly, and caught Dean following his every move. The demon blushes heavily and sits right on the bed.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

 

“Preparing the spell for your brother?”

 

“Yes, right...” Dean says, getting up. “You said you needed a personal object?”

 

“Yes, something that could create a very strong bond to him.” Castiel says, and before Dean can react, he slices his palm, create a thin bright scar on the skin, and blood flows softly in the bowl. Then, Cas wipes it on his jeans and the wound is gone, like it never existed. “Give me your hand” Castiel adds, holding out to Dean.

 

Dean does not think and does it. His hand ends up in Cas' palm and when the angel does the same scar on his skin, he winces of pain. The fresh blade leaves a thin bloody trail behind it. It may be very little compared to what he felt before, but it still is far from pleasing.

“Sorry. I had to take your blood so the spell would be stronger.” Cas apologizes, and his other hand flies above Dean's, his warm fingers brushing against his skin, and the second after the pain, and the wound is gone. His fingers linger a little too long but he soon moves back.

 

As he turns around and throws some different herbs in the bowl, Dean observes how his wings fold neatly behind his back, shifting so he is never bothered by them. He holds them high enough for them not to hang on the floor, but their tip almost touches the dust. Dean notices for the first time they are made of different kinds of feathers: at the top, they are small and downy, and they get larger and smoother as Dean's eyes fall on their extremities. Then, they become long and sharp like swords, shiny under the pale light, turning dark blue under the morning's caress.

The most intriguing is how they start, how they just seem to come out of his flesh, how they fit perfectly between his shoulder blades. Castiel is the first angel Dean ever met, and yet the sight of gigantic bird wings is not strange. It feels rather familiar, comforting.

 

“I thought angels lost their wings when they were cast out of Heaven…” Dean whispers.

 

Castiel sighs, back still facing him, busy with the spell. “Maybe they thought throwing me out of my home was enough.” He answers calmly. Actually he never found out why they were still here, why his Father did not chose a crueler punishment. If that was possible.

 

“Do you miss it? Heaven?” Dean asks.

 

“No.” Castiel's voice is cold, not a single emotion pierce his words. “They took everything from me.”

 

Dean frowns. What could possibly be more precious than strong, beautiful wings? If humans saw Cas like he was seeing him, they would stand, speechless, breathless. That was not for nothing they created all this pieces of art showing the Angels of God fighting, their wings of light unfurled behind them like great sails.

 

Out of any control, Dean's fingers start to move toward Castiel's back, land on his skin still hot after his shower. He moves them again and they dive into thick feathers, soft as velvet. He opens wide eyes, bewitched. The touch is unreal, like caressing stars and clouds, and even if they are strong and tense under his hand, they belong to another dimension. They have been illuminated with celestial light, and they have been soaked in blood. He keeps going, fingers now meeting smooth, thin feathers, like covered of liquid night, their edges almost cutting Dean's skin. The wings are shaken by a shiver, and Dean realizes Cas' body stiffened, and his shoulders do not even move with his breathing.

 

“Dean.” Castiel says with a voice as weak as a whisper, and it almost sounds like a warning. His wings fold back suddenly, pressed tight against each other, feathers trembling. Flashes of a conversation resonate in Dean's mind, something about touching angels' wings, how this was not something he was allowed to do, as he was not an angel himself, and even less a lover. Castiel must had felt sick when he felt Dean's dirty touch on his pure, delicate wings.

 

Dean removes his hand hastily. “Shit.” He mutters, already regretting his gesture. He swallows down, uncomfortable. “Cas, I'm so sorry.”

 

Castiel turns back and he avoids Dean's eyes as he puts the bowl between them, his jaw clenched, his face painted with a mixture of embarrassment and grief. His wings are almost invisible behind him, and he moves them carefully. He gets up suddenly and opens a closet where he grabs a dark t-shirt. He puts it on, and before Dean can ask, he is fully dressed. A second, the wings were in the way, the other they were coming out of the fabric, and nothing was ripped apart, and Dean does not even see openings that let them pass. Castiel comes back to him and sits in front of him.

“Give me the amulet, please.” He says with a monotonous voice.

 

“Cas I'm sorry I swear I-”

 

“It's OK. But if you want to find your brother, we have to do the spell.”

 

Dean is about to protest but Castiel's starry eyes make him forget his words. He closes his mouth and gets up, opens his bag and searches for the necklace. His fingers meet something cold and very small, and he grabs it. The amulet hangs from his hand, like a thin rope of hope he once wanted to hang himself with.

He sits and hands it to Castiel who takes it with delicate fingers, avoiding any contact. He raises it above their two bloods, closes his eyes.

 

“Cas, I shouldn't have-”

 

His words are blown away by a storm filling the room. A violent wind rushes into the little house and it is suddenly illuminated by a blinding white-blue light that radiates and screeches. Dean has a little cry of pain when it burns his skin, his heart going off like a bomb. His lungs are twisted around, and the air is heavy, electric, burning. It is like the house is on fire. A pain so cold it burns. The ground shakes under him, the trees break outside. Dean looks around him, terrified, his hands grasping at his jeans tightly.

He cannot breathe and turns to look at Castiel. His soul jumps, just like when Cas threatened the man at the shop. His wings are wide open behind him, dark flags covering the room behind him, and snakes of electricity runs on them, like lightning ripping the night skies. He is frowning, his lips half open, not moving. Yet, it the same quiet whispers that surround Dean, and he gasps when his eyes meet Castiel's. In a second, he drowns in them, these deserts of ice, these frozen hells, falling forever in this violent clarity. He sees what Castiel sees: a road, an abandoned building, a little house behind, a dark poisoning cloud around it, protecting it like a barrier. They move forward and walk through the walls, and then there is Sam. His brother is tied to a chair, screaming of fear and agony. His voice rings in Dean's ears, and he would die of sorrow if he could.

 

Sam's clear eyes are full of tears, they roll, burning, on his cheeks and he is breathing heavily, his heartbeats are distraught. He is shaking and terror circles in his eyes like birds of prey. He has a strangled cry, and calls again for help, but there is not a single living soul for miles around. He tries to rip out the ropes biting his wrists but it seems they are not simple ropes, that the woman cast a spell on them, just to enjoy Sam's slow, long suffering as he would try and try again and again.

Dean shouts his name and tries to walk to him. Next to him, Castiel is just a shaking silhouette, a human-shaped fog. He moves and deep down, Dean knows he is looking at him with sad, bright eyes, and that in the reality, he lets his grace flow around him to give him the strength he is losing every second.

 

Memories flash behind Dean's eyelids: running after his brother in their yard, growling at him as Sam falls on the grass, holding his painful ribs as his laugh fills the afternoon sun. Watching cartoons together, and suddenly feeling Sam's heavy head dropping on his shoulder, before he would carry him upstairs, tuck him into bed. Standing in front of young boys that would mistreat his brother, pushing his frail body on the concrete ground, and Dean would talk with his lowest voice, as the air would grow colder around him. His eyes would snap to black and the bullies would run away screaming, and he would dishevel Sam's hair until a timid smile bloom on his brother's bloody face. They would come home and eat warm apple pie, while their mother cover them with an affectionate look.

Watching the trees become blurry on each side of the road when their father would drive fast, and screaming of excitement when the sea would appear on the horizon, blue and golden. Driving the car himself, Sam by his side, singing rock tunes at the top of their lungs, sleeping in dirty motels just to feel the adrenalin of being free flowing in their veins. Eating in 50's restaurants, drinking cheap beer, mocking his brother when the waitress would flirt with him, watching him glaring at him before he would start to laugh too. And finally, the incredible pain, the awful horror of realizing he was gone. Forever.

 

Dean screams again.

 

Suddenly, as if Sam sensed their presence, his head turns to them, ghosts of smoke. His eyes open wide, and his words seem to get stuck inside his throat. He blinks back his tears and swallows, a lump on his throat. His look travel on both them, from Castiel's shaking shadow, like a silhouette made of crystal clear lakes and moonlight, to his brother standing in front of him, blurry but looking so real, so human.

He shivers violently. “Dean?” He says, and it feels like a dream, a sweet illusion his tortured mind created.

 

Dean shatters inside, and his legs are ready to give out beneath him. His heart screams behind his ribs, thunder rolls inside his mind. “Sammy?” He asks with a weak voice.

 

Sam holds his breath and his eyes are as wide as full moons. Dean tries to walk to him, but his feet are like stuck in thick mud, his steps swallowed by seas of sand. He raises terrified eyes and Castiel's voice fills his mind like a cool, cleansing wave. “We cannot go further. The spell is not strong enough. If we stay any longer, it could be dangerous.”

 

Dean turns suddenly to him. “We find him! We need to bring him back!”

 

A hand lands on his shoulder, gentle, compassionate. “Not like this. We need to come here by ourselves. I can't take him with us out of my vessel.”

 

Dean lets a cry of frustration and pain escape his mouth and turns back to look at Sam, who is still staring at him, eyes full of tears. His lips tremble. “Please, help me.”

 

Dean exhales loudly, and steps back. “I promise. I'm gonna save you, brother.”

 

Sam nods and despite the fear floating around him, his aura is strong, stubborn, fighting against the darkness around him. “I believe you.” He simply says.

 

As Dean and Castiel starts to fade back to their home, he sees the door of the abandoned house open and the woman walking in the room, her steps leaving flames on the ground. Sam faces her, his eyes cold and hard as two gray stones. She starts to holding out a hand to him and Dean's scream gets stuck inside his lungs as they suddenly snap back to reality and his brother's memories fade away, like the sun on a winter day.

 

** \--------------------------------------  **

 

There is a blow of light and suddenly, Dean is back in Castiel's house, sitting on the smooth wooden floor. He is panting, breathless and weak. He glances at the angel to see he is in the same situation, taking short and painful breaths. His wings are still half open on his sides, the tips nearly touching the walls around them.

“What happened?” Dean asks, raising a hand to his chest, trying to calm the distraught beats of his heart.

 

Castiel seems very weakened, and when he tries to stand up, his legs give away beneath him and he nearly collapse on the ground. Dean gets up quickly and catches him before he hurts himself even more. He passes an arm around his waist and helps him walk to the bed, and Castiel limps slightly. The back of his t-shirt is soaked in cold sweat and he shivers violently. He sits on the mattress, and lets all his weight fall heavily on it, and the puppy jumps on the bed, before he curls into a ball on Cas' lap.

 

“The spell was too strong, and we stayed for too long. It could have killed us.” He says, still trying to calm his breathing.

 

Dean sits next to him, passes a hand in his short hair. He feels exhausted, like some kind of evil beast drained all his strength, sipped his life away like a good liquor. “We have to save him.” He whispers, eyes lost into space.

 

“I know.” Castiel answers, stretching his wings, wincing at the sharp pain growing inside them. “But we cannot go without a plan. It could be a trap.”

 

Dean sighs deeply, and the future seems to darken every second. If this woman is really a force beyond their comprehension, capable of erasing more than thirty years of life, and replace the void with brand new memories, then what are their chances to actually save his brother?

“It was different this time.” Dean starts, his mouth dry, his words as heavy and tasteless as stones. “He recognized me…”

 

His lips threaten to start trembling, but he bites them until it hurts, until a metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. He clenches his fist and notices Castiel's own hands are half open, still holding the amulet. The angel stares at it, like it was holding all the secrets of the Universe.

“I believe your bond is incredibly strong, and that it broke the connection. When you met your brother yesterday, you triggered something in his mind and now this woman's powers are becoming more and more useless. His memories are coming back faster, or at least he remembers things even when she washed them away.” Castiel says with his hoarse voice, still playing with the necklace between his fingers.

 

“We could wait until she leaves and we could bring him here...”

 

“She could find us again. Even with the spells of protection on the house.” Castiel says, finally putting the amulet back in Dean's hands.

 

“Where could we take him so she'd never find him again?” Dean asks, and Sleep is making his eyelids heavy. These past few days turned him into a ghost, a bloodless corpse wandering around, haunting the woods. What he wants right now is a good meal and a long, long night of sleep.

For once, he does not want to collapse on the bed, bloody, sore and full of sorrow. He wants to slip into the cold sheets and curls up under the soft warmth, lets the pines watch over him, kindly, as the wind would blow outside, singing him to sleep.

 

“Well, Heaven, Hell and Purgatory I suppose.” Castiel finally says.

 

“What's Purgatory?” Dean asks, fighting against the fire that burns in his eyes.

 

“The land where monsters go when they die. We cannot send your brother there. Heaven would never do this for me, and Hell would not be a better option...”

 

Here it goes. That brief glimpse of hope taking roots in his brain, but brushed off by a nuclear wind, keeping it from blooming. Dean keeps a scream of anger from coming out of his mouth and presses his lips tight, turning them white. His jaw is clenched, and he has to breathe for a minute, slowly or he would take his blade and runs right to Sam, killing every soul who dared to stand in his way.

He sighs, and instinctively, searches for some comfort. He puts his head on Castiel's shoulder, closing his eyes and leaning with all his weight against the angel. This one does not move for a moment, as if he was thinking of the appropriate reaction, before he finally puts his own cheek on the top of Dean's head.

 

They stay like this for a moment, Dean dozing, between life and dream. He does not care about the intimacy of the gesture, for it feels strangely familiar, as if it was a ritual between them, a habit they never lost. Castiel breathes into Dean's hair, smelling the strong scent of forest and sugar with a hint of blood, and warm dust. He wishes he could fall asleep right now, once again surrounded by Dean's aura, holding him tight in his arms. But there was a turmoil in his mind he could not tame.

Suddenly, he sits up right, raises his head, frowning. “I may have an idea...” Castiel says, turning to Dean.

 

The demon raises confused, sleepy eyes to him, blinking to chase slumber away. “What?”

 

“We need to find a place to hide your brother. Purgatory and Heaven are impossible. But Hell might be possible, under certain circumstances.”

 

This time, Dean is perfectly awake, raising an eyebrow, looking at Castiel like he just lost his mind. “You want to send my brother to Hell?”

 

“No, of course not. But we could take him somewhere and create the illusion of Hell around him. He could leave and walk free, and the spell would follow him. He would be invisible to her eyes only. If she is really from a place we don't know, then he could be safe this way.”

 

Dean sighs, already feeling Cas' words making knots with his brain. “Alright, and how do we do that?”

 

Castiel shifts on the bed, searching his words. “You're not going to like it.” He says, giving Dean a look that hides a terrible idea.

 

Dean shrugs. “Well, I'm not liking any of this.” He smiles to Cas. “What could be worse?”

 

**X**  

“Lucifer?! Seriously?!”

 

Dean gets up and starts pacing up and down, covering the ground with angry, large steps. Castiel watches him come and go silently.

“You want Lucifer to watch over my brother?” Dean repeats, looking at Castiel like he just came out of the asylum. “That's your idea of a guardian angel?!”

 

“Dean, just calm down, I know this sounds crazy but-”

 

“This is insane! We have to keep him safe, not invite the freakin' Devil to keep him company!” Dean shouts, turning suddenly to Cas.

 

“It doesn't mean he will have to stay with him all the time, but near enough to make the spell work. Only Lucifer has the power to create such thing.”

 

“I said no!” Dean screams and walks to him, stopping so close they feel each other's breaths on their faces. “We're not gonna do that!”

 

“Dean, think of it. I know you're scared but it's our only chance!” Castiel insists. “You cannot protect your brother.”

 

Dean steps back, shakes his head, tears starting to fill his eyes. “But- but you could help me! I know you've already done a lot but-”

 

Castiel sighs. “Dean, if I could, I would help you. But I have fallen, and so I'm too weak to create a place to keep your brother safe.” He stops, colors swirling in his eyes, painted with sorrow and pain. “I'm useless to you.”

 

“Don't say that.” Dean says. He stares at Castiel like he was about to break down.

 

“I promise nothing will happen to Sam. If Lucifer tries to do anything, we will send him back to Hell. Be we have to try.”

 

He walks to Dean and faces him. He surrounds him with his aura, and Dean lowers his head, staring at the floor. “Do you trust me?” Castiel asks, dreading the words that will flow from Dean's mouth.

 

As an answer, Dean closes the space between them, and puts his face on Cas' shoulder, burying his face in his neck, his arms already wrapping around his waist. “Yes.” He simply says, breathing into Cas' t-shirt, closing his eyes. “Just help me.”

 

Castiel passes his own arms around Dean's shoulders, pulls him into a tight embrace. His wings spread around them, the sharp edges crossing behind Dean's back. He closes his eyes, and holds on that short, heavenly moment, fearing it will end too soon, that his soul will once again be ripped apart.

 

“I promise.” Castiel repeats and he lets Dean's warmth swallow him whole like an ocean. An ocean that will drag him down to its depths, he knows it.

 

**\--------------------------------------**

 

Dean contemplates the white walls. What was the last time he was not drowning in silence? And by silence he does not mean the soothing sound of dust hitting the ground. No, he means this void slowly devouring him, eating his joy away day after day. It does not matter if he is surrounded by a crowd, or letting music fills his ears until his head aches, it is still this silence floating around him, as if he was walking in another reality, another world of black and white, where emotions and smiles are false. Where he is a pale corpse running the woods, letting his despair fill the streets.

He sighs and shakes his dark thoughts away. He gets up from the bed and pours what is left of coffee into his cup. He fell asleep and when he woke up, the night was already starting to cover the woods. Cas left a note saying he went in town to get a hot meal for the two of them, but Dean is not even sure he will be able to eat. Knowing his brother is lost out here, his head like a foggy field.

 

The house is strangely calm without Castiel. Not that he is much of a talker, but his simple presence was enough to stop the screams inside his mind. Now that he is gone, the walls come closer and he feels nauseous, sick. Cas' absence is starting to create a hole inside his chest and he keeps himself from running in the city and screaming his name until his lungs are on fire.

He keeps staring at the dark liquid making waves in his mug when there is suddenly a discreet murmur, a rustle like trees shaking during fall. A flutter of wings, and it is like every feather has its own melody, singing happily in the wind. He turns back to Castiel, his heart already beating faster against this ribs.

 

Except it is not an angel with dark wings facing him, but a short redhead who points her silver blade under his throat. Dean's whole body stiffens when he sees the warm brown wings behind her, mottled of white, half open on her sides.

“Who are you?” The strangers asks, frowning so angrily it nearly looks humorous. “Where is Castiel?”

 

Dean's first instinct is to run and grab his blade, but something keeps him from hurting this frail woman, something too soft in her features, almost too human. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say a word, another voice resonates in the room. “Let him go, Charlie.”

 

The woman steps back, and suddenly gives Dean a soft smile. “Sorry for that.” She says, gesturing at her blade, and the second after, it is gone. “You know, angels' manners and all...” Her wings have a happy beat, projecting sparkles of gold around her.

 

Dean gives her a confused look, but his attention is stolen by the silhouette walking in the house. The tall blonde man lets his eyes wander on the walls, he lets his fingers brush on the furniture. His strong, poisonous aura flows around him, leaving a smell of burning behind him. “Don't mind my angelic chaperon over there.” He says, gesturing at the woman, Charlie. He still does not look at Dean. “I heard my brother called me. What's his problem now?”

 

His cold, sarcastic voice triggers an odd hatred in Dean's guts and the demon's eyes darken. “Who are you?” Dean growls, clenching his fists.

 

The second stranger sighs and raises his eyes to the ceiling. “This is gonna be longer than I thought...” He starts, before he turns to Dean, clearly annoyed. Dean notices his wings he did not see before: they are huge, even more than Castiel's ones, but completely broken. From visible yellow bones, long, tattered grayish feathers hang, touching the ground like a heavenly train. Some of them are totally ripped apart, covered of scars and dry blood like slowly eaten up by some invisible beast. There are even holes in them, just like when Cas was shot by the Hunters. Dean cannot help but stare at this damaged flag, these so wonderful gifts from the sky turned into shame.

 

There is suddenly a river of whispers and Charlie lets a little _Oh_ of surprise escape her lips, instantly covering her mouth with her hands. Dean raises his head to look at them, and catches Charlie's shocked eyes, as she shakes her head without stopping. Next to her, the blonde stranger with tattered wings stares at him, half incredulous, half amused. His mouth twists into a smirk. “Well, I see my brother didn't lose his time...” He says, before he has a little whistle that makes Dean shiver.

 

“Who are you?! What are you doing here?!” Dean asks again, feeling the fear growing like inside his veins. He is uncomfortable, feeling like an ant under the two angels' look.

 

“Lucifer. Pleasure to meet you.” The man answers, and being able to put a name on this face does not ease Dean's worry. “I've heard so much about you...” Lucifer continues, stepping slowly to him, his head tilted on his side.

 

“What are you talking about?” Dean answers as he tries to get away from him. “I don't know you!”

 

The man has a little smile. “Oh, sure you don't. But I do. We all heard about you.” He says, and Dean turns his head to look at Charlie, who answers by a timid nod, her body looking so small in this suit that looks way too plain for her.

 

Dean frowns, lost in confusion. “I don't get it. How?” He asks, and suddenly Lucifer's face is illuminated, his eyes widening of excitement and madness. He claps his hands in a sudden move, making both Charlie and Dean jumping.

 

“Ooh!” Lucifer steps back, covers his mouth with his hand dramatically. “He didn't tell you!”

 

He has a little laugh, visibly enjoying the situation. Next to him, Charlie covers Dean with a soft, sad look, her gentle dark eyes full of pity and her bright hair is the only color in the room, as the rest of the world grows colder and duller.

“When I thought my brother hit rock bottom… He always find a way to disappoint us.” Lucifer says, joining his hands like a mad preacher, staring at Dean like he is the most insignificant thing on Earth, as well with the most fascinating. The Devil's eyes feel like a painful ray of sun on Dean.

 

“Listen, you got the wrong guy. I know Cas since like… two weeks?” Dean says, and doubt bites his skin, flows like a red river behind his eyes.

 

Charlies gasps. “He doesn't remember.” She blurts, looking at Lucifer with wide open eyes.

 

“Of course not. Not after what Dad did to him.” Lucifer says, diving his snake eyes into Dean's as if he was searching for something in those green fields of confusion. “He doesn't remember a thing...”

 

“Remember what?” Dean asks, feeling like a star which just landed on Earth, blinded by the traffic's red and orange lights, a newborn in the middle of the woods, surrounded by wolves.

 

Lucifer moves suddenly and takes Dean's chin in his hand, making cold drops of sweat run on Dean's spine, as his breathing gets rapid. He observes him, and Dean can feel his hot breaths on his face.

“I know you because you were once in my kingdom. I saw you, broken and miserable. One of my personal demons made you his own little toy and if you knew the pain you felt...” Lucifer shakes his head, a sick flame shining in his eyes. “On Earth it was just the matter of a minute but down here… it was centuries of pure, incredible pain.”

 

Dean shivers violently, his eyes widening of horror, the house spinning around him and it feels like someone is stepping on his lungs, like cruel, merciless children are playing in them, shooting arrows of fire.

Lucifer smirks, his gruesome wings of paper and bone spreading behind him, his eyes darkening into bottomless wells. “My brother took care of you… How pathetic is that?” He laughs, and runs his hand in Dean's short hair, and the demon kicks, trying to escape the Devil's hold, in vain. “Well, I can't blame him...”

 

Charlie whispers Lucifer's name behind him, already walking to him, trying to get him away from Dean, but his cursed tongue already spoke and at the same time, there is a familiar rustle, a breeze chanting in Dean's ear, the song of every black feathers.

 

“After all, he did save this pretty face from Hell...”

 

Lucifer smiles, a horrific smile full of cruelty and contempt. Dean's eyes are full of burning tears and he turns his head to the door.

There is a flash of bright visions and he remembers.

 

_Him, rotting in a silver cage, the flames licking his skin as he screams his suffering to the dark birds circling above him. He does not even cry, his body is dry of all this precious liquid and when it is not enough, it is drops of warm blood rolling down his cheeks, leaving red trails of suffering. But suddenly, there is a blow of light, it is the Flood, the Creation coming down on him. It is fresh and soft, and it surrounds him tenderly. Ribbons of pale blue light break away from the blurry silhouette and wrap themselves around his fingers, dry his tears and caress his hair soaked of sweat. He breathes and with the strength of a thousand winds and the beauty of a thousand rains, the creature beats his wings of darkness and in one motion, they are rising above the sea of fire and beasts with sharp teeth try to catch them. But the light holds him tight against his warm chest, his wings spreading behind it, before they surround Dean again. Thousand of eyes are staring at him, and in each one of them Dean can see the purest and most delicate emotion, a benevolent affection devoid of any violence or pride. Dean breathes softly into this celestial heat and lets tears of relief flow, as thousand of gentle voices whisper to him, sing him to sleep._

_**You are saved.** _

 

Dean blinks. Castiel stands there, staring at him, his mouth open, his words like forgotten notes on a sheet music. His wings are half folded behind him, the tips pointing like sharp knives of blackness. He does not need to speak. The sorrow, and the agony in his blue eyes are telling everything.

 

Dean stops breathing. His heart jumps, not sure if it wants to keep fighting.

Truth. Striking again inside his bones like thunder, destroying everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To talk a bit about what's coming, I thought this story would be finished long before s11 ends. But when I saw it was going to take longer than expected, I decided I would definitely stop following (loosely) the plot of this season.   
> Thanks to all of you! :)


	6. My Heart, It Turns To Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title + Inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYIiZwsOlqc

 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Dean asks, trying to calm the distraught beats of his heart.

 

They are outside the house, now illuminated by the pale moonlight. A thick fog started to fill the woods, covering the ground with a white, moving sea. The trees shake silently, the cold wind making Dean shiver violently.

Castiel is standing in front of him, eyes fixed on the ground. His wings dropped low, and he is not caring if the feathers fall on the dirty soil. He does not have to be seen as dignified and powerful anymore. He avoids Dean's look, weighing down on him like a rock. Inside the house, both Lucifer and Charlie hold their breaths, listening to their every words shamelessly.

 

“I mean Cas, I thought you trusted me!” Dean says, incredulous, feelings mixed inside his head like a boiling, murky pond. “That's it, you don't trust me?!”

 

Castiel shakes his head but does not answer, the lump on his throat keeping him from saying a word. His eyes are already starting to get glassy and he bites his tongue, pushing his tears back into the depths of his skull.

“Then what?!” Dean asks in a half scream, half whisper. “Because we can't work together if you lie to me! Why didn't you tell me?!” He repeats.

 

“You wouldn't understand.” Castiel whispers, brushing the dust with the tip of his wings.

 

Dean opens his mouth to answer but shuts it suddenly, then passes a hand on his face. Once again, all his strength went God knows where. He looks at Castiel, his features twisted in an exasperated pout. “If it's about me, I think I can.”

 

Castiel raises his head for the first time and his tortured eyes cross Dean's. “I didn't tell you because I realized I made a mistake.”

 

Dean blinks, frozen under the shock he feels. “What?”

 

“You told me you didn't want to be saved, that you were glad that the Hunters killed you. That's when I realized my decision to save you was selfish.”

 

“Selfish?! You didn't know me!” Dean shouts, still confused by Castiel's words.

 

“I did.” Cas simply answers, leaving Dean speechless, staring at him with wide open eyes, as confused as a child. “I know you since you are born, Dean.”

 

“I don't understand.” Dean blurts.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, shaking, swimming in Dean's eyes. “It was a day like another, and I was looking down on Earth. I was watching over humans' souls and suddenly there was a blow of light. Someone was born, somewhere in the world. I should have move on, like I always did, but that was so incredible I decided to stay a little longer. And hours became days, that became years. I spent all this time watching over this bright little soul, and I grew fond of it. There was something indescribable about it, and I couldn't go over it. I felt everything that it felt: pain, sorrow, happiness, anger… All of this was new to me and it was so violent… And it became even stronger when the soul grew up, getting brighter and brighter every day. It was overwhelming and the bond I created with it, it started to hurt me. I was becoming weak, and my brothers kept telling me to stop caring about it. Because I shouldn't even be able to care. Or feel.”

He stops, breathless. Dean keeps staring at him without a word. Castiel keeps going, knowing there is no turning back now. “I told them I couldn't stop, that if I stopped watching over this soul, something wrong could happen, and I would never forgive myself.” He stops, breathes. “I was right. One day, my brothers found me unconscious, bleeding. No one knew what happened to me but what I'm sure of is that when I woke up, my little bright soul was screaming. It was grieving, and it was in such a pain I couldn't bear it. I was weaker than ever, like some force blew all my strength away, but I didn't care. I tried to heal it, ease its sorrow, but nothing worked. During months, I watched it grew colder and duller, and I couldn't do anything. I was just keeping it alive.”

A painful sob rises in his throat and he swallows it back, and his eyes land on everything but Dean. “It was doing some awful things on Earth, and it was bringing pain and despair everywhere it went. My brothers only felt the deepest loathing for it, but I just couldn't. One day, I turned away for a second, just a second, or I knew I would not go through another night. But when I came back...” Castiel looks back at Dean, and tears fill his bright gems of eyes. “It was gone. Humans killed it. My brothers tried to hold me back but I was too desperate. I searched it everywhere, and I felt like this would be my last day, that I would not survive this pain. As the seconds were passing, I started to think it was too late and that I lost it forever. But then I found it. Always so bright.”

He tries to take a breath, but air gets stuck and burns inside his lungs. “It was my responsibility. So I went to Hell. For me, it disappeared for a minute, but for it, it was here for years, and it was already starting to be damaged. I knew what I had to do, so I gripped it and raised it from its cage. It was so broken and scared, and in pieces. I put them back together, making its body again, slowly. It took years, but when it breathed again, only a minute passed on Earth...” His wings tremble uncontrollably, and he swallows down hardly. “I thought I did the right thing….”

 

His lungs finally open and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them back again, Dean is staring at him, shaking, tears rolling down his cheeks. Castiel's heart jumps in his chest and he steps to the demon. “Dean, what's wrong?”

 

“That was you...” He murmurs.

 

“Dean I'm so sorry...” Castiel starts but Dean cuts him off.

 

“For what? Saving me?!” He says in a cry. He wipes his tears angrily. “I can't believe it...”

 

“I'm telling you the truth D-”

 

“-You've been here my whole life.” Dean says in a whisper.

 

Castiel's mouth is half open and he stares at Dean, and for a moment there is no sound but the pines breaking under the wind. “Dean I'm sorry, I swear-”

 

The demon walks suddenly to him, and throws himself into his arms, burying his face soaked of sorrow in Cas' neck in this so familiar way. His hands grip at the front of Cas' jacket, and his soul collides into Castiel's grace. The angel exhales suddenly, shocked. His arms soon find their way around Dean's waist, and he holds him close, hiding his own dry tears in Dean's skin. His own little soul, his bright light guiding him into the night, warm and tender close to him, just like when he held him in his hands the first time.

“I promise I'll protect your brother, and I'll not let you down.” Castiel whispers in Dean's neck. “Never.”

 

**X**

 

They get in the house and facing them, there are Lucifer with his usual mocking smirk, and Charlie, covering them with soft and tender eyes, a wide smile spread on her lips.

“Aw see that? That's a little tear in my eye!” Lucifer says, devilish aura around him.

 

Castiel glares at him and he moves to the kitchen, taking warm and steaming food out of the bags he brought back. Dean's stomach twists and he realizes he is starving. Castiel puts a burger wrapped in white greasy paper in front of him with a handful of fries, and Dean's inner animal cannot keep himself from jumping immediately on his meal. Castiel sighs and leans against the table, and faces the two angels always sitting on the couch.

Lucifer gets up suddenly and walks to Castiel, stops close to him. “So, since you seem to chase problems like demons, what's wrong now?” Castiel glowers at him, his black wings stiffening behind him. Lucifer smirks. “And if you weren't aware, I have a kingdom to rule. Not everyone here is running the woods holding hands with pretty boys.”

 

Dean raises his head, mouth stuffed with food and turns to Castiel. “Is he serious?” He says.

 

Castiel sighs deeply, runs a hand in his hair, leaving messy dark strands pointing in every directions. “He is always like that, yes.”

 

Dean pouts and lowers his head, his attention drawn back to the food. “Asshole.” He says under his breath, picking up a few fries.

 

Lucifer's smile fades and his eyes darken in a second. The air becomes electric, black. The light bulbs above them flicker and Dean looks around him, frowning. Lucifer's jaw is clenched and he steps to the demon, his tattered wings unfurling behind him like flags on a battlefield. “And what are you to talk to me like that? I could step on you like an ant anytime.” He says, voice colder than ice, low and deep.

 

Dean gets up suddenly, and walks to him, fulminating, his rage boiling in his veins. “Oh really? I would like to watch you try.” He says, his voice making Castiel shiver.

 

Lucifer grits his teeth, and his wings have a sudden angry beat, as he is coming closer to Dean. A bulb blows up behind him, exploding in dozens of sparks. “Watch your tone.” He answers, barely controlling his voice shaking of anger. His aura is as black as a winter night and it bites Dean's skin, who gets only closer, his features as cold and hard as stones.

 

“It's not some angel dick that will tell me what to do!” Dean shouts, his eyes snapping to black, empty voids of evil wrath. He clenches his fists, standing like a mountain in front of Lucifer.

 

The evil force growls at him and his wings open wide suddenly, flapping in the wind filling the room. He is ready to jump on him with teeth and claws. “I'm going to slit you open and bleed you dry.” He says, lowering his head, snake eyes diving into Dean's. “When I'll be done, you'll beg me to kill you.”

 

Dean smirks and shivers dramatically. “Oh, scary.” He answers, throwing his soul to Lucifer, and the angel takes the blow that makes him step back. He raises his head and this time, it is too much.

 

He screams and starts walking fast to Dean, his wings curved, framing his face of dull gray. But before he can even land a finger on Dean, Castiel stands in his way, wide, shivering black wings protecting the demon like a shield. Lucifer smirks. “Look at that. Poor little thing that needs his knight to protect him. Too bad he wasn't there when your little family was killed.” Lucifer hisses.

 

“Lucifer, stop.” Cas says with a deep, low voice.

 

Behind him, Dean burns and tries to push Castiel away but the angel does not move. His wings are tense and hard as marble. “Cas, let me go!” The demon shouts, his nails diving into Cas' back, his hands gripping at his t-shirt and diving into his muscles. “I'm gonna end this bastard!” He screams to Lucifer behind Cas' feathers.

 

Castiel turns back in one move, blocking the view from Dean. He is only inches apart from Dean and he drowns in his bright green eyes full of anger and grief. “Dean.” He says but the demon is still staring at Lucifer, flames shining in his irises, and he does not pay any attention to the angel in front of him. Castiel sighs, and his hands suddenly frame Dean's face. The demon jumps slightly under the cold and gentle touch, and his eyes fall on Castiel. “We need him to save your brother.” He says.

 

“But-” Dean starts to protest, and he looks back at Lucifer, whose eyes fly from him to Castiel, his lips spreading into a knowing smile.

 

“Alright, alright.” The Devil says, raising his hands, lowering and folding his wings back. Castiel steps back from Dean, and this one exhales suddenly, all the pression on his chest leaving suddenly. The storm is gone, and there is nothing inside his soul, but a peaceful, fresh smell of rain. “As I said, I have things to do and you better explain the reason you called me, _brother_.” Lucifer adds, nearly spitting on the last word.

 

Castiel steps to him, and Dean notices the differences between them for the first time, now that they are face to face. If Castiel carries an odd darkness with him, going along with his dark hair and wings, a genuine softness, kindness floats around him, whereas Lucifer's light hair and feathers are contrasted with the sharp, hot emotions swirling in his mad eyes. And it is not that Castiel does not look capable of smiting the whole town if he wanted to, but there is something more about Lucifer, a celestial, old strength dancing in his bones, shining under his skin. He would destroy the whole Galaxy just by snapping his fingers, and he would not even feel guilty about it. 

“We need you.” Castiel says, visibly hating to say those words.

 

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, visibly interested. “Really? You're desperate enough to call me?” He glances at Dean and the demon is still glaring at him, jaw and fists clenched. Lucifer smiles. “I bet it kills you. Knowing you cannot do anything for him.” He whispers to Castiel, and the angel's body stiffens. Lucifer's words clearly touched him but he tries not to show it.

 

“Dean's brother is alive. He was kidnapped years ago by a woman, but now she is back, and we need you to help us getting him back, and protect him.”

 

Lucifer stares at him for a moment without a word, and when he realizes Castiel is done, he gives him an incredulous look. “That's it? You can't handle a lady by yourself? Not that's new but-”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, and Dean cannot hold back the soft laugh in front of this so human gesture, so strange on Castiel's calm, wise angel face.

“You don't understand.” Castiel says in a slightly exasperated way. “This woman is not human, and neither a demon nor an angel. She is unbelievably powerful and she erased his brother's memories. He is with her for years now, and she is creating an illusion strong enough to make him believe it's the truth.”

 

Lucifer's eyes darken and grow colder. “I never heard of her. How is this possible?”

 

Castiel shakes his head, beats his wings once. “I don't know. But we cannot take him here, she would find him again.”

 

Lucifer crosses his arms on his chest. “So what are you asking me?”

 

Castiel's eyes dive in Lucifer's.”We need you to create a spell around Sam to make him invisible to her. Only you can do that.”

 

Lucifer looks at him without an emotion, thinks for a second. “And why would I do that?” He glances at Dean once again. “Especially for this cockroach right here?”

 

Dean growls but does not say anything. Castiel takes a deep breath. “He is not the one asking you. I am.”

 

Dean's head turns suddenly to him and he frowns. “What? No I-” He starts before Cas pushes him behind him with his wing.

 

“Pathetic.” Lucifer has a little laugh, his eyes traveling from Castiel's desperate eyes to Dean's panicky heartbeats, before he looks back at his brother. “And why could you possibly offer me?”

 

“Anything.” Castiel answers without thinking, eyes fixed strong on Lucifer.

 

Suddenly, Charlie moves away from Lucifer, his tiny silhouette hidden behind the Devil's. “Castiel, you cannot do that!” She says, stepping to him, her brown and white wings opening nervously behind her. “He could ask you anything.”

 

Castiel's eyes fly to her and soften. “I know.” He says. “But that's my choice.”

 

Dean moves behind him, and he stands in front of him, next to Charlie. “What is she talking about?” He asks, his soul lost in confusion.

 

“Everything has a price.” Lucifer says, making Dean glare at him. “And your lover boy over there is ready to pay it for you.”

 

“What? No!” Dean shouts, turning back to Castiel who stares at him with a half-tender, half-broken look. Before the demon can react, the angel nods slightly to Lucifer and this one grabs his forearm tightly, and a dark blue light shines for a moment under his skin, making his veins glow like neon. He closes his eyes and winces of pain, as his wings freeze behind him, shaking with the same curse.

 

Dean gives him a confused look. “What happened?”

 

Castiel sighs and opens back his eyes. “We're going to save your brother.” He simply says with no more explanation.

 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, already dreading the answer.

 

Once again, Lucifer speaks in Castiel's name. He pushes Dean with a wing, or what's left of it, and the demon is filled with disgust. He moves away from this gruesome ribbons hanging from Lucifer's bones. “Well, you two could make me tear up.” He says, amused. “My lovesick brother just sold himself to bring yours back to you. Adorable, right?” He adds.

 

He goes on with his idiotic remarks and evil laugh and Dean looks at Castiel, mouth open but no words coming out, sucked out in a swirling ocean of despair. The angel answers back with a poor smile, and soon lowers his head when Dean's eyes darken with an emotion he does not recognize. The air is glacial outside and Lucifer's laugh fills the evening around them.

 

**X**

 

“So, can you tell me why are we going by night?” Lucifer asks.

 

Him and Castiel walk side by side, wings folded neatly to avoid any contact.

“I do not sense her right now. She must be gone, so we have to do it now, otherwise she could come back before we can save Sam.” Castiel answers.

 

Lucifer glances at him. “Are you sure he is worth the sacrifice?” He asks, and Castiel's heart jumps when a hint of worry seems to pierce his brother's voice. He does not answer, but he does not need to. Lucifer already knows.

 

Behind them, Charlie and Dean follow, and as strange as it must sound, what could be the beginning of a friendship is blooming between them. Dean did not meet a lot of angels in his life: the few he saw were arrogant and cold, Lucifer is a complete idiot and Cas.. well, Cas is Cas.

But Charlie is another kind. She is not the pure, flawless figure with wings of ice, projecting her shadow on Dean to make him bow before her. She is a warm, kind person, talking happily with Dean, and both of them seem to appreciate the company. She knows quite a lot on humans, and seems to have a soft affection for humankind in general. Her aura is clear and soothing, purple and orange twisting and swirling together like a puddle of light. Her wings, that are extremely small compared to Lucifer and Castiel's, are half open behind her and when Dean says a bad joke, she pushes him softly. She reminds Dean of a bird. A tiny, colorful being singing the morning, illuminating the skies with a fire of bravery and tenderness. And what a strange painting they make: him, tall and dark, burning inside and her, celestial, bright and flawed in the sweetest way.

 

“So,” Charlie says at some point, nudging Dean's arm softly. “You and Castiel?”

 

Dean gives her a questioning look. “What?”

 

She smiles widely and pushes him again, making him stepping away from the trail. “Oh, come on!” She shouts.

 

Dean frowns, and glances at Castiel walking in front of him. The angel's muscles play under his t-shirt and the breeze makes his feathers move, throwing black sparks in Dean's eyes. Cas' soul is always so bright, fresh and pure like a thin stream in the forest. His heart softens and for a minute, he gets lost into this vision, following Castiel's light footsteps, and he is sure he could follow him forever like this, eyes closed, with only his bond with the angel to guide him among the trees. His reveries are suddenly blown away by Charlie's clear voice.

“Dean, are you with me?” She follows his gaze and her brown eyes fall on Castiel. She smiles and beats her wings of dark gold. Dean turns to her.

 

“Yes- Yes. What?”

 

“You and my brother?”

 

“What's the problem?”

 

Charlie sighs. “Dear, sometimes you're as clueless as him. What's going on between the two of you?”

 

Dean frowns, but suddenly he seems to understand. His eyes opens wide. “Oh- tell me you're not thinking…?” He asks, muttering.

 

Charlie has a knowing smile. “You know what I mean. I'm not blind.”

 

“You're wrong.” Dean blurts, heat growing in his cheeks. “There's nothing going on! And besides, Cas is a freakin' angel, remember?”

 

“Yes, and?” Charlie asks, and there is a strange hint of grief and pity in her eyes, making Dean ill-at-ease.

 

“That's just sick.” He looks back at Castiel and his heart aches a little. “He wouldn't be happy with the idea.” He adds, eyes lost into space.

 

Charlie looks at him fondly, and she keeps himself from saying anything. She wishes she could speak with Dean's soul, and she would sing to him _“Oh, how wrong you are...”_

 

Before any of them can realize, they nearly bump into the two other angels. Castiel and Lucifer stopped walking and observe the landscape around. Dean looks around, and the silence of the woods surrounds him. Nothing is moving, not a bird, not a leaf. The forest seems to hold its breath. Far away, there is a concrete building, cold and threatening, and Dean knows he already saw it. Just like he knows it hides a little, wooden house.

“It's here.” He whispers. “He's here.” He is about to start walking when the three angels stand in his way. He stares at them, narrowing his eyes in the shadows. “What are you doing!?”

 

Castiel steps to him, and lands a hand on his shoulder. “I think it would be safer for you to stay here while we get your brother.”

 

Dean looks at the two others, and as an answer, Charlie nods with a gentle, sorry smile. The demon even turns to Lucifer, who shrugs. “For once, I agree with Cassie.”

 

The angel with black wings glowers at Lucifer, and Dean stares at them, incredulous. His blade weights on his waist where he tied it. “Are you all crazy? It's my brother!”

 

Castiel looks back at him. “We don't know this woman's powers. I don't want to put you in danger, Dean.”

 

“I don't care.” Dean says, his eyes darkening. “It's my responsibility to save him, not yours.”

 

“I know.” Castiel's wing brushes against his arm softly, his grace tries to soothe him. “But we still don't know anything about her, or that… attraction between you and her.”

 

Lucifer opens wide eyes. “Attraction? Oh, how interesting-”

 

Castiel hits him with his wing, and the archangel has a false angry pout. Dean sighs. “So what do we do?”

 

The angels turn to the house. “I don't hear anything.” Charlie says, short red strands of hair flying around her face.

 

“She's not there.” Castiel says. “I can sense it.”

 

“How can you know that?” Lucifer asks skeptically.

 

“We've met her before. I know her soul.” He turns to the archangel. “You should see it. It's strange, extremely dark.”

 

Lucifer nods and they walk to the house, their feet barely touching the ground. Dean looks around him nervously, fearing that this woman will come out of the woods and call him, and like hypnotized, he will follow and lose himself. He shivers and follows the angels like their shadow, and he feels so strange next to them, these creatures of light with their wings open on their backs like great brown, gray or black flags. But as he follows them, he realizes he is not that different, and each of them is flawed. Lucifer is a monster known as evil itself, Charlie is too free and odd to fit in a cold and numb stream of soldiers, and Cas… he has fallen because of his heart of gold. Each of them has made mistakes, and by this simple little detail, Dean feels closer to them.

 

They now face the house that looks more like an abandoned chalet. The air is glacial, the pines bend under the wind. Dean takes a deep breath, not sure of what, or who, he is going to find inside. There is a soft touch on the back of his neck and when he turns back, Castiel is looking at him, pushing all his aura around him. Dean closes his eyes for a second, lets the sea of emotions enfold him, caress his sore skin. And then he opens the door.

Inside, it is the most neat and cruel Chaos. The furniture has been thrown out against the walls. There is broken glass on the floor, tracks of footsteps on the dust. The wind blows into the room by the open windows, the curtains floating like thin ghosts. Dean's heart stops when he sees drops of blood staining the carpet.

 

He steps carefully into the room, holding his breath. It's dark inside but his eyes focus on a shapeless silhouette huddled up in a corner. A human shaped body, shivering, and smelling like blood and pain.

Dean blinks. “Sam?” He asks softly, his voice resonating in the space around him.

 

There is a dreadful, empty moment when he can only hear the world turning around them, and the breathing of the three angels next to him. And then.

“Dean?” A broken, husky voice says. The silhouette moves and crawls from his corner. Strands of brown hair cover his face, but Dean recognizes him, just by the amber colored aura that floats around him. He runs to the man, and falls on his knees next to him.

 

“Sam? Sam are you OK?!” He mutters under his breath, his hands flying around his brother and he cups his face, pushing his hair out of the way. Dean's stomach moves when he sees what this woman did to Sam.

 

Bad, somber bruises bloom like evil flowers on his skin. Long, sharp cuts left red trails, and one of his eyes is so swollen he cannot open it anymore. There is blood coming out of his nose and his lips are nothing more but an open wound. Dark veins cover his neck and rise to his temples, glowing of dark energy under the flesh, moving like streams. Sam holds his ribs, and when he moves, Dean can hear the cracks and screams of his broken bones.

Dean swallows down, paralyzed by shock. Sam raises a shaking hand and touches his arm, carefully, gripping it as if he was making sure this was not an illusion. When he sees the fabric is real under his fingers, he looks at Dean, eyes glassy of relief and joy. “That's really you.”

 

“You remember me?” Dean asks, his heart pumping loud in his ears.

 

Sam nods, a fragile smile spreading on his lips, and he winces when his face becomes hot of pain. It grows inside him and he bites his tongue to swallow the ache back. Dean tries to help him getting up, but Sam's legs are too weak to carry him. Dean puts him down on the floor slowly, and sighs. The loathing he had for this woman turned into the purest flame and his heart will never sleep until he has his revenge. He will make her pay for all of this. For taking his family, for making him believe his brother was gone, for ruining his life and turning him into a monster driven by a wild blood lust.

His thoughts are brushed away when a soft aura touches his. Castiel sits next to him. Sam gives Dean a confused look before his attention is drawn to the angel. He observes his soft features, before his eyes fall on the immense wings unfurled, nearly melting in the darkness around. Sam's eyes open wide and he stares at Castiel like he just saw God himself. Cas answers with a gentle smile and leans his hand to him. Sam flinches a little, and Dean realizes he had probably not being touched for years, except for this woman who tortured him again and again. Castiel puts two fingers on his forehead, and a second after, there is no more blood, no more wound. His face is clean, his bones whole again. Sam raises clear shining eyes to the angel. “Thanks.” He whispers, now that his voice is back to normal. He turns to Dean and catches his brother staring at this dark haired stranger.

 

The whole time, Dean looked at Cas and he blinks to chase the tears of relief away. His eyes travel on Castiel's soft features, on the way he smiles gently at Sam, even if he does not know him, and that he does not have any reason to help him. He just does it because he is good, because he is kind and nothing else. When Castiel moves back and turns to Dean, the demon feels nearly ashamed of the way he lets all his emotions flow free and how the angel must see everything in him, like he was an open book. Right now, his gaze must be as transparent as glass. He has a hard time rousing from Castiel's face, and he turns his head back to Sam, who raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

 

Dean pretends to ignore it and helps him getting up. Sam's body is still a little sore, and almost rusty, as if all the moves he made during the past years were controlled by someone else. He raises his head and his look fall on the two other angels standing in front of him. Lucifer winks at him, only causing a dark glower from Dean and a confused, embarrassed blink from Sam.

Charlie steps to him and the second after, her arms and wings surround Sam, as she pulls him into a tight hug, her small silhouette against his giant shadow. Sam seems surprised, and that is understandable, but he still wraps his arms around the frail woman, amazed by her warm cinnamon colored wings. Dean can see her bright aura around Sam, soothing him, putting him into some kind of awake slumber, into a comfortable and numb dream.

 

Dean smiles and he still cannot believe they did it. That his brother is saved, that he is back, and mostly, that he remembers everything. This is a miracle. All these emotions rushing through him weaken him and he feels more exhausted than ever. His body is heavy and he nearly falls, but Castiel catches him in his arms, wrapping them around his waist, holding him tight against him, and Dean gives him a thankful smile.

“We should go.” Castiel murmurs. But then he notices how close they are, how strong his own heart beats against Dean's, and his breaths feel so hot on his face. Dean's eyes dive into his, and he is not even sure if there is any more air flowing between them, as his arms are still around Dean. Desire and love swirl into Cas' soul and Dean's eyelids flutter as the angel starts to lean closer, desperate, breathless, falling into madness.

 

Only Lucifer's voice makes him snap back to reality.

“Castiel.” It is not mocking, nor threatening. It is rather a warning, a call for help. Cas moves back and looks at him. “There is something wrong. I think she is coming back.” The Devil says, and there is actual fear in his eyes.

 

Dean's eyes open wide and he tries his best to get his strength back. He turns to look at Cas, who is already staring at him, terror floating around him like a heavy, poisonous cloud. Thunder rolls outside, and lightning strikes, illuminating the landscape and they all turn in the same motion.

In the burned field surrounding the house, there is a silhouette walking to them. Tall, thin like a ribbon of darkness, wearing a dress as black as her eyes. And these eyes, oh dear they are oceans of hatred and power. Abysses of damnation and suffering.

 

Sam has a strangled sob and steps back until his back hits the old fireplace. Charlie stands in front of him, bird wings open wide behind her, protecting him.

“We have to go! Now!” Castiel shouts, and he cannot hide the fear circling in his eyes. “Lucifer, help Charlie and get out of here with Sam!” He screams again, giving his brother a begging look.

 

Lucifer seems to think about the opportunity to escape alone for a second, before he nods and walks to Sam and passes a hand around his shoulders, while Charlie wraps an arm around his waist, giving him a gentle smile that cannot hide her fear. “It's gonna be OK, I promise.” She says, and it could be a touching moment, this small woman reassuring the tall man who could probably throw her across the room if she was human. But in this moment, their hearts are too taken by the vision walking to them to laugh at such futile thoughts.

 

They beat their wings in the same motion and there is a flutter, a wind and suddenly they are gone. The woman is still coming closer and Castiel takes a deep breath, praying to anyone that could hear him to hear his lament. He cannot be weak, not now.

He gathers his strength, and beats his wings in a strong, wide move. The goddess screams outside and it feels like all Hell jumps on them, terrifying beasts of fire and blood. Dean throws his soul around them like a shield, so powerful and full of wrath their claws cannot even leave a scratch on Castiel.

 

**\----------------------------------**

 

Dean and Castiel walk side by side around the woods. The wind is weaker but still hitting them with merciless gusts. The angel raises his head, observing the spell Lucifer cast. It is a blood-red dome above their heads, sometimes illuminated with orange and yellow veins, shifting and moving constantly. The Archangel fell asleep right after he threw it in the skies, all his strength gone with this shining armor of stardust and fire. Sam, as well, let slumber take him in its arms, while Charlie's head was leaning on his shoulder, snoring silently.

 

But them, their minds and hearts are wide awake and the woods are calling them, begging them to come running among the scented tall trees.

“I still don't understand.” Dean says suddenly, breaking the silence around them.

 

Castiel gives him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

 

Dean gives the soil a little kick and stuffs his hands in his pocket, and his fingers brush against a small, now warm thing. The soft feather he caught when Castiel saved him, on what he thought was his deathbed. “Why you do this for me. I mean, first you save me from Hell, then from the Hunters, and now you save my brother.” He gives Cas a look. “Why?”

 

Castiel sighs. “Because I care about you.” He simply answers with honesty.

 

Dean's heart jumps in his chest, but he tames it. Once again. He has a small, one-sided smile. “I'm sorry I said we couldn't work together if you lied to me.”

 

“No, you were right.” Castiel answers, letting the night breeze caress his wings that unfurl under the fresh touch.

 

“I was wrong. I can't imagine how you see me. Some dude comes into your life and is constantly in danger, and then asks you to save his brother.” He has another smile, sad this time. “I didn't mean it. I don't want you to think I'm important.”

 

Castiel stops, frowns, heart beating fast. “But you are, Dean. You know that.”

 

The demon keeps walking. “I mean, to you. I'm just another creature you saved from Hell. That doesn't give me the right to ask you favors.”

 

“I didn't save any other creatures. You were the only one.” Dean stops, back towards him. “You are the only one that was ever saved from Hell.” Castiel adds, voice as weak as whisper.

 

“This is not possible.” Dean says, visions of Castiel illuminating Hell, wings of fire and ice surrounding him. This was too beautiful, it could not only belong to him. This was a photograph that never faded, something he held tight against his heart since he remembered it. He did not want to show it to anyone else, but he felt strangely disappointed when his mind suggested he may be one in a million. But now, his ideas are blown apart. Behind him, Castiel is silent, and he does not move anymore, his warmth is far away from him.

 

The pines shake and the night shivers. “Dean.” Castiel says suddenly.

 

“Yeah?” The demon answers, not turning back. If he does, he would run right into his arms.

 

“I have to tell you something. Because I promised I would not lie to you anymore.”

 

Dean swallows hardly. “Alright.”

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, his grace snakes around his bones, already healing the wounds opening again in his veins. “The reason I fell...” He stops, the tears, the traitors, the executioners coming to his eyes. “Saving you from Hell was only the beginning of my fall. I was cast out of Heaven right after you came back to life.”

 

Dean freezes. His mind is blurry, swirling, shaking, burning. _No. Impossible._

 

“I did keep my wings, just to be punished in another way.” He stops, breaking down inside. “I had to see you never remember.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly cried writing it. ಥ‿ಥ


	7. The Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The droning engine sings your Hallelujah,  
> The broken headlamp lights your path to God"
> 
> Chapter title + inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KwLYJVWYA8

Dean's thoughts are birds circling above his head, small dark ravens cawing loudly. He is laying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling that became the sea he jumps in everytime the weight of the world falls on his shoulders.

 

The morning is rising, thin ribbons of fog float above the soil like cold spirits, and pale colored lights illuminate the woods. The firmament is still glimmering shyly but there is the darkest smoke inside Dean's skull. His mind became a graveyard, a glacial and empty land where he wanders desperately.

The night before feels like a dream. Castiel's words are still echoing inside him, and everytime he thinks about him, a wave crashes down on him, and he feels like he is sinking in the darkest waters.

 

He stood there in the silence of the night, incapable of saying a word, when all his being was screaming inside. He turned around and his heart, his lungs, his soul wanted to collide against Castiel and all he wanted was to collapse in his arms. But his body, this prison of bones, it kept him standing still, diving his feet into the mud. There was gravel inside his mouth, his throat, making his tongue heavy and bloody. The angel looked at him silently, and Dean watched a whole galaxy fall down in front of him. The worst pain spread on his face, his wings dropping behind him, like a broken soldier letting his weapons fall on the ground. Inside, there was a storm raging against Dean's bones but from the outside, it was two empty green fields swallowing Castiel, an imperturbable mask of amazement and curiosity staring back at him.

Dean tried to say something but before the words can cross the gates of his lips, there was a look of pure agony followed by a delicate flutter of wings, and the angel was gone, gone in the wild. The demon shouted his name, his cry made the trees shiver in front of such a pain. He ran for hours, making his soul rise above them, searching for the aching grace flying away from him. He listened, waiting for the familiar breathing, and footsteps and heartbeats, the breeze chanting in silky black feathers. But only deep, mean silence answered him and Castiel shined by his absence. Dean kept searching, digging into the dust floating in the air, turning in every street, every field, hoping he would find the celestial creature sitting in some dark corner.

But he did not. Castiel was nowhere to be found, and maybe he did not want to. Maybe it was better this way, far away from the source of all his pain, the stream of all his dark thoughts. Maybe the angel would be happier if he did not spend his days in the company of such an evil light.

 

The black of the sky was turning dark blue, the stars up above still shining bright. Dean sat on the ground, buried his head in his hands. He crossed his arms on his chest, trying to find some comfort in the warmth of the leather jacket he did not leave since Castiel gave it to him. His scent was slowly fading away, replaced by the stench of blood and metal, metal that was wrapping itself around Dean's veins, the sweet fragrance of violence and Death. He cried silently until he could not shed a tear anymore, until his body was so heavy and dry he just stood there, staring into the void. Thunder rolled far away, his muscles were numb and sore, and his mind full of terrifying questions. What if he just lost what he has been aching to find all these years?

At some point, he got up again, and this time the morning was starting to appear, joyful, clear and painfully bright. He walked to the house, empty of any emotion. He opened and closed the door silently. His brother and Charlie, still asleep together, were snoring into the rising light. Lucifer was sitting on an armchair next to them, and he opened his faded eyes when he heard Dean. He shifted on his seat, surrounding himself a little more with his broken wings. His look traveled from the demon and his swollen red eyes, to the empty space behind him, the unusual shining silence. He frowned and asked Dean silently, but this one just looked at him blankly, before he turned around and collapsed on the bed.

 

Dean now grips the cold sheets in his fists, his eyelids sore, his heart breaking silently inside. The small ravens fly above him, perch on his shoulders, dive their claws inside his flesh. “He will never come back.” They say. “Never again.” And it sounds too much like a prophecy, like something Dean will not be able to control, that not matter what he had done, the end would always be the same.

He breathes deeply and the white fabric is soft against his cheek, but it makes him remember of that one morning where he woke up against a warm chest, and that this cherished chest is now gone. Gone, just like the arms that surrounded him, that kept him in one piece, that kept him human when the night was calling him, when the blood was flowing like a stream in his ears, flashing red behind his eyes.

He is fearing what is in his heart, this emotion that consumes him whole. The reason he spared Castiel's life in the beginning, the reason he was feeling so well by his side. Now that he can put a name on it, it seems even more awful. Pathetic even. He cannot let it control him, he knows too well what happens when he gets too close to anyone. He cannot make them suffer like this, and it may be selfish, but he cannot inflict it to himself. He would not survive it.

 

He sighs. The day is now entirely there, and his mind seems to keep him awake in the most ironic, cruel way. He sits on the bed, passes a hand on his face. He looks at the puppy, curled up into the ball next to him, shivering in his sleep. Dean feels like a river dried up, a desert brushed by a hot wind. But no matter how much he is suffering inside, he has to focus on Sam. They saved him, but it would not surprise him if this woman opened their door right now. If Lucifer was scared of her, then everyone should be.

He gets up and enters the bathroom, glances at his reflection. His eyes are swollen, half closed. Tears drew strange patterns on his cheeks that grew hollow and the shadow of a beard started to cover them, worsening the despair that is painted across his features. He throws some cold water on his face and breathes deeply into his hands, gathering his strength back together, before he leaves the house.

 

He walks to the town and stops in a little shop to get breakfast for everyone. Warm donuts covered by a rain of thick white sugar. At least, their smell fills Dean's lungs, covering the bleeding wounds inside them for a moment. He walks for a while, trying to enjoy the gentle sun on his skin. He must look terrible, but people are still glancing shamelessly at him.

He grabs some coffee and when the woman handing him the hot cups wishes him a good day, he does not know if he should laugh or cry. He starts to cross the street, ready to come back to the house, when a silhouette catches his attention. Dark hair flying into the wind, deep blue eyes staring at him, full of sorrow. Dean holds his breath and nearly let everything he holds fall down. He blinks, but the second after, the vision is gone. He looks around, breathless and realizes he stopped in the middle of the road only when an angry driver honk at him, making him jump. Dean glowers at him and the stranger stiffens in his car, frozen under the evil look.

 

When he comes back to the house, everyone is awake. Sam and Charlie are chatting happily, and strangely, Lucifer joined them. When Dean enters the place, they all stop and turn to him. The Devil gives him a knowing look, while his brother and the small angel frowns at his haunted face.

“What happened?” Sam asks, worry spreading on his soft features. It is still so odd to see him back by his side, but in some way it does not bother him, for his brother's tenderness is familiar and soothing. “Where is Castiel?” He asks.

 

Dean freezes. He supposes the two other angels talked about him and God knows what they said for his brother to believe they are following each other like their shadow. But most of all, it is the sound of this name, the clear bells ringing into his ears, soft and foreign, strange and warm. He swallows the acid grief rising in his throat. “It doesn't matter.” He answers, putting the steaming food down.

 

Charlie looks around, confused. “What happened? Did you two break up or something?”

 

Dean turns suddenly to her, his eyes snapping to black, making the angel jumps. He is just a few feet away, all his height falling down on her, covering her bird wings with electric shadows. “Why are still here?!” He asks, clenching his jaw.

 

She gives him a hurt look and her wings have a slow beat before they curl around her. Sam stares at his brother, trying to calm his heartbeats in front of this growing, moving anger and these bottomless oceans of thick darkness. He puts a hand on his shoulder, making him step back.

“Dean.” He says, calm and serious. His brother raises his head to look at him, and realizes he is still much taller than him. His grip on Dean's jacket is strong, despite how weakened he looks.

 

Dean sighs and his eyes flicker back to green. He lowers his head. “Sorry.” He says, pushing Charlie gently with his soul. He looks back at her when a soft purple wave answers him, and she gives him a gentle, compassionate smile.

 

“No, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have said that.” She says, nudging his arm with the tip of her wing. Her words may not soothe Dean's suffering, but at least he knows he may have found a friend he can trust in. He sighs and sits down at the table, his move soon followed by the two angels and his brother.

 

“So what do we do now?” Dean asks, glancing at his brother who picked up a donut, looking at the sugar covering it like snow on a winter morning.

The tall man seems to think for a second, frowning at it as if it could jump on him, before he takes a small, careful bite. He chews a moment, before his eyes open wide and he gives the food a surprised look, as if it was filling him with wonder, before he keeps eating happily, tasting the soft white powder melting on his tongue, the fruity fodder exploding in his mouth. He licks his fingers and when he raises his head, Dean is staring at him, half fondly, half amused.

“What?” Sam asks.

 

“Nothing. Just that you used to hate that.” Dean has a little laugh. “You and your rabbit food...”

 

Sam shrugs and takes another donut. “Well, I don't like it. I just forgot how everything tasted.” He says, before his smile fades away, hard memories taking all the space in his mind. He turns his sad eyes to Dean. “Do you remember the pie Mom used to make?”

 

Dean has a melancholy smile. “Of course.”

 

They share a look, the memories rushing in, the years they missed, the absence. Charlies put her chin in her hand and stares at them, smiling softly. Lucifer clears his throat. “I don't want to stop your… moment but we have to decide what we do.”

 

Dean shifts on his seat and looks at him. “You're right.” He says, even if he hate the reaction these words create on Lucifer's face, this arrogant little smirk. Dean glowers at him, before he takes a sip of his coffee, while his brother swallows the whole cup in one motion. “So you just have to cast another spell, right?”

 

Lucifer sits right. “It's not that simple. Actually, the spell has two steps. First, I have to put it inside your brother, so he can be protected at anytime. But it will work only if he is awake. When he'll fall asleep and snore like the loud moose he is, she will find him.”

 

Sam glares at him, only causing an amused little smile from Lucifer, who winks at him. Dean frowns. “Ok, and the other step? What is it?”

 

Lucifer's dull eyes travel on the two brothers. “I have to create the other part of the spell on a place, so even when he'll be sleeping, the scary lady won't be able to see him.” He gives Dean a look, has a little laugh. “But I cannot cast it right now, or he'd have to live here forever. And I don't think our dear Sammy would like to see what you and my brother do at night when-”

 

Charlie elbows him in the ribs and Dean gives him his darkest look. “Don't you ever stop? It's not a freakin' game!” He shouts, feeling the anger flow in his veins. “We have to find some place for Sam before she finds us!”

 

“Alright, alright. Let's do that so I'll get rid of you all. I can hold the spell a little longer around us but not forever.” Lucifer says, as he gets up and shakes the dust out of his wings. “Are you gonna tell me where your lover boy is?”

 

“One day, I'm gonna punch you, Devil or not.” Dean answers coldly, his fists clenched under the table. “And I don't know where he is.” He adds, a lump on his throat, the sorrow threatening to come back on his lungs.

 

He gets up, starts cleaning the room. His brother raises confused eyes to him. “Dean, are you OK?”

 

“Yeah.” The demon answers without looking at him, throwing the empty cups and greasy papers in the trashcan. Then, he walks to the door, and stops in the wooden frame. “Get ready, we're going in town.” He says before he shuts it and disappears into the foggy woods.

 

Sam frowns and turns to the two angels. “What's happening to him? I've never seen him like that.”

 

“You weren't here for the past seven years. How would you know?” Lucifer says, raising an eyebrow.

 

“He is still my brother!” Sam answers back, incredulous, before he turns to Charlie. “Why wouldn't he talk to me?”

 

The redhead sighs, and touches Sam's shoulder with the tip of her brown wing. Her eyes are as soft as an afternoon's rising light, and full of tenderness. “He can't.” She says, looking back at the closed door, Dean's heavy steps echoing of grief in the forest. “His heart is broken.”

 

**\---------------------------------------**

 

“May I help you?” A gentle voice calls them out.

 

They turn and see a short woman, with hair as dark as her wide open eyes, staring at them with a genuine kindness. Her aura is simple, neither too bright nor faded. Just a swirling, lazy ribbon of yellow and brown, warm and welcoming.

 

They have been walking the town for two hours now, searching for some place Sam could live in. The real estate agencies were full of the abandoned houses the tourists left behind them, and they could totally see how desperate the city was, for the price of these little wonders were usually lower than Hell. But despite the choices blooming in front of Sam, none of the properties seemed to please him. Lucifer was starting to be tired and punctuated every silence with annoying sighs. Charlie was strangely excited, pointing at everything she saw, walking with Sam as she held his arm as if she was afraid of losing him. Everything was incredible for her, from the shops to the cars, the smells, the sounds, and Dean supposes it is the first time she ever live on Earth.

He follows them silently, giving his opinion from time to time politely. Sam sees he speaks because he has to, but that deep inside, his soul is aching to be somewhere else, with someone else. A few times, Sam suggested they would stop and search the day after if they were too tired, but Dean brushed his words off, saying that the sooner they would find somewhere he could be in safety, the better he would feel.

And yet, he was feeling selfish, and greedy, for thinking he would not be completely happy if Castiel never returned, if he ran away for good. There still was so many questions filling his mind and he could not keep them away, for his brain was a boiling potion of wonder and grief. His only comfort is their dog, walking obediently by his side. Dean glances at him, and he is surprised by how much the thing seems to have grown. He definitely looks like a wolf now, his pointy ears turning to Dean when he feels his look on him. The dark red lights swirling around him are hot and extremely strong, for a dog.

 

Dean blinks and focuses back on the woman, still smiling gently at them, her eyes traveling from the two brothers to the two angels, squinting slightly around their silhouettes. Dean clears his throat, ill-at-ease. “Well, actually yes. We're searching for some place for my brother.” He says, pointing at Sam behind his shoulder. “Maybe somewhere very calm, but not too far away, you see...”

The whole time, the woman stared at his lips and when he closes his mouth, she raises back her head to look at him. She nods happily, her eyes turning into half moons as she smiles widely. “Well, I may have just the right place for you!” She answers, a little too loud to be normal.

 

She lowers her head to search something in her bag, and Dean has a little, clear whistle, that does not make her move. She raises her look back to them, and takes out crumpled papers out. A car passes by them and beeps in an annoying, loud way. Dean winces and his eyes follow it until it is out of sight. The woman did not even flinch and she puts a calm look on him, as calm as if she was in her own bubble, far away from this world full of noise. Dean blinks and understands. Her aura is barely moving because it is not bothered by any sound.

 

She shows them a picture of a small house, or rather a chalet, surrounded by wild bushes of dark roses. It seems to be in the middle of a wide field covered of tall dry grass, but the woods appear on the horizon behind it. “As you can see, the place is very calm, there are no neighbors. It may need some fresh paint, but otherwise, it's really nice. And it's entirely furnished.” The woman says, showing them other pictures. The house is small but enough for a lonely man. It looks a little faded, but there is an odd, charming thing about it, a wild and enchanting light surrounding it.

 

“This looks really good.” Sam whispers, and Dean turns to him. For the first time since he is back, he sees the real spark of life in his eyes, the part of him that wants to fight again, and stop wandering in some foggy field. “What do you think?” He asks, turning to Dean, bright hope in his clear irises.

 

“This is nice.” He answers, and his heart aches a little, just to remind him it is here. “How much?” He says, pointing at the picture.

 

The woman smiles. “Here is the best part. The owner already has several houses and he does not care about this one anymore. He is ready to sell it for 30,000 dollars.”

 

Dean's eyes open wide, he raises an eyebrow. “That's all?”

 

The woman nods again. “Yes, it's not a problem for him. He just want to get rid of it.”

 

“Well, this is interesting. Can we visit it?” Sam asks, his smile spreading slowly on his face, the cold wind turning his cheeks ruby red, or maybe it is how the woman holds his gaze without blinking, staring at him with two dark gems, as calm and confident as the sun rising every morning.

 

“Of course.” She answers after a moment. She takes another paper out of her bag and write something on it, a neat and quick writing of someone who knows what she is doing. “Meet me here. 2. P.M is OK for you?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Sam answers before any of them can say a word, and he takes the note she hands to him, holds it in his palm like it is a precious gift he must protect.

 

“Alright.” She says with another gentle smile, as she starts to turn away. “Oh, and my name is Eileen by the way.” She adds with a look towards Sam, before she walks away, her ponytail swinging behind her.

 

They look at her as she leaves, and when she is out of sight, Dean claps his brother's shoulder, making him jump. “Well, isn't that cute?” He says, smirking, and Charlie and Lucifer's silent laughs resonate behind him. “You got a little crush?”

 

“What? No!” Sam blurts but heat rises to his cheeks and Dean laughs. Despite his tall and impressive silhouette, Sam is still so soft and innocent inside, and Dean is amazed by his ability of forgiving the worst sins of humanity. No matter what he lived these past years, he is ready to throw everything away and give his golden heart to anyone who would want to take it. He is ready to move on. _Unlike him._

 

As they walk down the street, searching for some place where they could have lunch, he gets a glimpse of a painful vision in the corner of his eye. Once again, there are blue oceans staring at him, raven hair moving in the wind, a strong and delicate ghost haunting him. He blinks, chasing it away and follows the group, eyes fixed on the ground.

 

**X**

 

After a meal Dean barely touched under Sam's worried look and where they searched the house on Dean's phone, they leave the restaurant. Charlie suggests taking the bus, and her wings beat happily behind her, throwing fresh gusts on them.

Dean thinks for a second. “I have another idea.” He says, his mind illuminated by faded memories. He gives Sam a smile. “Just follow me OK?”

 

They all give him an intrigued look, but walks after him. About ten minutes after, they are facing a row of closed garages, a wall of dirty white doors. Dean stopped in front of one, staring blankly at it as if it was the Gates to Heaven. His hands are curled up into a ball in his pockets. On one side, his fingers brush against the soft feather, like a mechanic move, the only thing he can hold onto right now. On the other, they find a cold, metallic object, jingling like clear bells on a Sunday morning. He takes the keys out.

 

One opens the white door, the other one as black as night, and the last opens a box where visions of a fateful night are hidden deep down. He tied the amulet to his bunch of keys when he left his house. It is his little lucky charm, filled with dusty remains of the past, ache and joy. They sing in the wind, shaking things in his mind that have been buried for years now. He raises his head when he sees Sam's long finger brushing against the necklace. His brother has a haunted look, taken by pictures that seem to belong to another man.

“I remember it.” He whispers.

 

Dean walks to the door, before he opens it with a strident grating noise. The room is dark, dusty and musty. Dean narrows his eyes to see what is inside and his heart has a little happy jump in his chest, pulsing suddenly against his ribs. The cars are still here.

Their dad's, the one they used to take for their trips, the one that smells like childhood and happiness and laughs. Dean enters the place, moving a hand in front of him to chase the heavy dust away. The cold wind is already filling the place, making it easier to breathe. He lets his fingers linger on the black shiny metal, now covered by a thick dirt. Sam takes a deep breath behind him.

“You kept it.” He whispers.

 

“I didn't want to. I wanted to sell it, or burn it, or whatever.” Dean answers, his heart aching. He now realizes how much he would have regret it. “I didn't think I'd see it again.”

 

“But you loved it!” Sam says, confused, before his lips spread into a thin sad smile. “More than me!” He adds, with a little laugh.

 

Sam's light aura is contagious and Dean cannot help smiling back at him. “Yeah, it made me think of you.” His smile is lost, tainted of sorrow. “So you see why I didn't keep it...”

 

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Dean sighs and smiles once again at his brother. “Well, I hope she still works.” He says, opening the door, slipping on the black leather seat, his hands on the cold wheel. His brother leans to look at him by the window frame as he puts the key in, turns it carefully. The car has a disgruntled noise, sputters loudly for a moment before it starts droning, the engine coming slowly back to life. All of the passenger compartment shakes, almost growling like animal.

 

Dean opens wide eyes, feeling the power of the car moving around him. He raises glassy eyes to Sam. “You see?!” His brother nods and smiles widely with all his teeth, feeling the warmth of joy filling his heart again. Dean pats the wheel tenderly, smiling like a child in a toy store. The puppy jumps on his lap and barks nearly happily, licks the tears of relief rolling on his cheeks.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “I thought dogs weren't allowed in the car?” He asks, smirking slightly in front of his brother, pressing the dog against his heart while caressing his fur.

 

“This is different.” Dean protests. “And stop laughing!”

 

The demon gets out of the car, puts the dog on the ground with precaution. Sam keeps giggling. “Sure, _Mom_!”

 

Dean elbows him in the ribs, and have a false angry pout. “Shut your mouth and come see this.” He says as he bypasses his brother to walk to the other car, covered by a wide piece of yellowish fabric. He pulls it in one move, making a shiny Continental appear. It is rather old, from the 70's he thinks, but its pale color gleams like liquid gold that has been poured on the metal. Sam opens wide eyes.

“I didn't remember that one.” He says, brushing a shy finger on the car body.

 

“It's because you never had the chance to see it.” Dean says, his voice low and soft. “I bought it for you and Jess, and I was going to give it to you. But-”

 

His words get stuck in his throat, and he has to swallow hardly to keep going. “I'm sorry, Sam. I should have been there-”

 

Suddenly, Sam pulls him into a tight hug, giving him a strong embrace.

_Family, blood, happiness, simplicity. The trees shaking around the house, the steam on the windows as they breathe softly, warm on cold glass, watching the lightning ripping the dark skies apart. The sound of the engine growling under them, as the car swallows miles and miles of black, black road. The sea appearing on the horizon, blue mirror made of diamonds shining under the pale sun. Their parents smiling at them, the smell of freshly cut grass and warm apples floating in the air, the afternoon piercing through their windows as they hide in the attic. The sand, the tar, the pines, the sun._

 

Dean takes a deep breath and his brother holds him a little tight for a second, before he steps back, emotions creating shiny pearls in his eyes. “I'm glad you're back.” Dean says, gripping his brother's shoulder.

 

He moves and lets Sam look at the car, sit on the soft seats of clear leather, hear the radio filling the empty space with a joyful, fresh melody. He observes his brother with a tender look, and Charlie steps next to him, followed by Lucifer.

 

“We are not told this kind of thing about humans… and demons.” She says, clearly apologizing. She turns to him. “I'm sorry for you, Dean. You deserved better.” She adds, and there is a soft touch of feathers on his hand.

 

“You're lucky to have your brother.” Lucifer suddenly says, making both Charlie and Dean turns to him, incredulous. “What do you think? That angels have family dinners and we hug each other and talk about the good old times?” He asks, and there is a discreet hint of regret in his voice.

 

“I didn't think it was important to you.” Dean says with honesty.

 

Lucifer squints, and gives the ground a kick. “Yeah, well then I suppose you never asked my brother what it was like to be alone on Earth?”

 

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again. Castiel said he was not missing Heaven, but is it possible that it was a lie? In front of Dean's speechless face, Lucifer dives his eyes into his. “I know what you're thinking. And no, he's not missing his little sick family and he stopped waiting for Daddy to return. But you know what's like to be cast out of Heaven? You're losing power everyday. Angels are making each other survive, we're supposed to have each other's back. ” He stops. “What happens when a solider is left alone on the battlefield, hm? When his whole squadron abandon him?”

 

Dean swallows. “He dies.” He whispers.

 

Lucifer clenches his jaw. “They either learn how to survive on their own, or they die.” He walks to Dean. “You better keep my brother from walking on the mines. Because at some point, he may try.” He says coldly.

 

Dean stares at him without blinking, guilt growing inside him. Lucifer steps back and his numb mask is back. “Now, do I have to remind you we have to take Sam to his date?”

 

“It's not my date!” Sam shouts from the car, and they all have a small laugh in front of his false angry frown.

 

“Ok, c'mon!” Dean says, clapping his hands. He gets in the car, immediately surrounded by the fresh air flowing inside. Charlie slides next to him and closes the door carefully, the dog jumping on her lap. Lucifer sits next to Sam, and Dean gives him a smirk before he leaves the garage, burning inside when he hears the familiar roar of the engine, soon followed by the lighter one coming from his brother's car.

 

**X**

 

The house is just like the pictures, except for the dry and frozen field behind it. The roses are still here, strangely blooming in the winter, projecting their bright red on their irises. An arch covered by ivy opens the way to the door, pale white gravel covering the ground.

Eileen buried her chin in her coat, watching them park in the front yard, next to a small old car. The wind beats her dark hair, making strands fly into her face. There is something odd about her, but not in the wrong way. A strength that contrasts with her frail silhouette, a flame in her eyes that Dean rarely saw in other people.

 

They get out of the car, and they are surprised by the cold wind blowing. They only drove for a couple of minutes but it was enough to change the weather. Dean shivers and zips up his vest, surrounds himself with the warmth coming from the thick red leather. He sees Sam do the same with the jacket Charlie bought him, and he knows the two angels are probably doing the same, enfolding their bodies with their wings. Charlie traded her serious suit for jeans and a hoodie, and it goes along her colorful aura perfectly.

“I like your car!” Eileen shouts, pointing at Sam's car, her voice flying above the strong wind.

 

Sam blushes suddenly. “Thanks.” He blurts, glowering at his brother when she turns back, inviting them to enter the house.

 

When they step in, they are struck by the warmth, not the suffocating kind, but the welcoming, soothing kind. The place seemed rather small on the pictures, but in reality, it is much bigger than expected. The house shines of gentle, bright colors, decorated with a surprisingly good taste. The living room is wide, with furniture of dark wood, couches of leather and nature paintings above them. A stone fireplace cover a whole wall, and Dean already imagines filled with bright orange flames. The kitchen is in the same shades, but with soft hints of colors, and a long table of wood. The four bedrooms are in the same spirit, made with strong and dark materials, but still surrounded by this gentle heat, like a kind being taking them in its arms. Thin white curtains cover the window, and around the house, it is nothing but a wide field and the tall pines shake on the horizon, like a moving sea under the gray skies.

Sam stands in front of a window, observing the woods in the distance.

 

Eileen steps to him, smiling at the grin painted on his face. “So, what do you think?” She asks softly.

 

“I love it.” He says, turning back to his brother who leaned on the door frame. Dean nods, and walks to them. He makes sure he is standing right in front of Eileen, and that she is looking at him when he speaks.

 

“Are you sure it's only 30,000?” He asks, still skeptical. It looks too good to be true.

 

She smiles at him. “Yes. As I said, it doesn't matter for Mr. Fergus. You just have some papers to sign, and it's yours! He doesn't want to spend too much time on this.”

 

Sam looks at his brother, hopeful, his whole being shining of life. Dean looks at him for a second, before he turns back to the woman. “Then, we take it!” He says.

 

While Sam is signing and talking with Eileen, Dean looks at him, feeling proud of the path is walking on. Finally, things are going the way he wants them to. In less than a week, Destiny gave him his brother back, and now this one is ready to start a new life, far away from the pain, the confusion and the despair he knew. Sam walks Eileen to the door, and she laughs before taking a small paper out of her bag and writes something on it. She hands it to Sam. “You can text me here.” She says, before having a gentle smirk. “You could call me, but I wouldn't answer.” She adds, causing Sam an adorable nervous laugh.

 

They stand a moment in the door frame, and Dean joins the two angels that sat on one of the couch. They shamelessly observe the two lovebirds and when Sam closes the door, they assail him.

“Do you have a date?”

 

“Is she going to live her?”

 

“If you don't take your chance, I will!”

 

They all turn to Charlie, who blushes. “What? She is cute, no?” She says, and Lucifer rolls his eyes, desperate.

 

“Alright, now that Sam has a bed to sleep, can we do the spell?” He asks, letting his tattered wings appear behind him, soon followed by Charlie who beats her wings, stretching them as if they became sore and numb.

 

“You're right. We've waited long enough.” Dean says.

 

Lucifer sits on the ground, and Sam does the same, facing him. Charlie perches on an armchair, her brown wings nearly invisible on the walls behind her. Dean frowns at the archangel. “Don't you need some herbs or something?”

 

Lucifer glowers at him, making Dean's soul crawls back into the darkest pit of his body. “Who do you think I am?” The Devil asks, shifting on the smooth floor, holding out to Sam and putting a hand on his chest, before closing his eyes. “Now, shut up and let me do my job, cockroach.”

 

Dean pouts but before he can say a word, there is a blow of light. But it is not blinding, not tainted of a fresh blue. It is a sticky, viscous wave exploding from Lucifer's palm, a transparent red veil spreading around them. It strikes Dean's heart, and he winces of pain. Charlie protects herself with her wings, giving Lucifer a frightened look. Sam screams and Dean is ready to jump on Lucifer, takes his brother out of his claws.

But when he tries to touch him, the Devil's voice resonates inside his skull, and he turns his head to look at him. His hand is still on Sam's chest, and thin glowing ribbons leaves it to draw bright veins on Sam's skin. Lucifer's eyes turned into swirling oceans of lava, shaking, moving. There are no more pupils, just these bottomless lakes, golden yellow in the center, growing to bright orange, before ending as blood red on the edges. “If you stop the spell now, it could kill him. And if it doesn't, I won't do it again for you and you'll have to find another way to help him. Do you understand or not?”

Dean nods, the pain in his skull becoming unbearable. The veins on Sam's flesh turn into strange symbols, and they glow for a second, before they disappear, dive inside his body, carve themselves into his bones. Dean blinks and sits on the ground, the world spinning around him. Slowly, the spell fades away, the hot lights go back into Lucifer, as he whispers under his breath, calling them into his heart. Sam opens his eyes, breathless, a hand on his heart.

 

Dean runs to him, puts a hand on shoulder. “Hey, are you OK?” He asks, frowning of worry.

 

Sam nods and gulps loudly. “Yes, I think so.”

 

Dean helps him to stand up, and Sam's legs give out under him. His brother walks him to the couch and Sam falls heavily on it. Charlie moves to him, her short red curls still moving around her face under the smokes coming from the spell, and she lands two fingers on his forehead. Instantly, his breathing is calmer, and he closes his eyes of relief.

 

Dean sighs, exhausted. He raises his head to look at Lucifer, and sees him staring at him. “I'm gonna do the same for the house now.” The angel says, his eyes still looking like ablaze ponds. “Don't get in my way.”

 

Lucifer gets up and starts brushing against the furniture, the walls, he goes from room to room, dragging the spell with him, snakes of red and orange smokes. Cloudy sharks swimming in the air. There is still a smell of burning, the space around them is electric, shaking under the force coming from another dimension. Dean follows Lucifer's orders, knowing it would be foolish to bother him in this moment. He turns the TV on, and the two brothers and Charlie starts watching it, too tired to even care about the archangel painting Hell on the walls. He is carving the code of the Underworld in the wood, and everytime his nails scratch the flowery wallpaper, the thunder rolls far away, and everytime the spell gets stronger, protecting them like an evil angel.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------- 

 

 

Time passes, slow, interminable. The hours drop, fall silently like grains of sand in an hourglass. The morning rises, painfully bright and the night falls, thick and suffocating, and this old companion only causes him more pain.

Every day is the same, the routine gnawing Dean's bones like a starving dog. He gets up, alone in these sheets. Everything is cold, almost motionless. It is a fog floating around him, and every breath he takes is thrown into a mirror, convicted to repeat itself the second after. He goes outside, stands for a while in the middle of the woods, breathes in and out, closes his eyes and lets the birds sing for him. It is a never ending sunrise, the light is out but it is faded, and it never really shows. He sits on the frozen soil, observes the trees as they shake silently under the breeze's caress, and he waits for something that will never come, never again.

 

What is scaring him the most is the way his memory is fading away, but not completely. As the days come by, he is starting to forget some little things. A smell, a laugh, the rustles of feathers, the sound of footsteps echoing among the pines, the touch of a hand, of an aura. They become blurry, they are like sharp little pieces of glass scattered on the ground, and everytime he picks one up, another falls from his hands.

And at the same time, they are still here, they haunt his days, his dreams, sometimes violent, bright and painful. When he decides he is ready to move on, they turn into the same ravens, make their nest in his hair and caw “Oh, really?” They dive their claws in his brain a little deeper, and make him bleed, causing an awful headache that makes the world turn around him, making him fall into a dark abyss.

 

He barely eats, only what is necessary to survive, and his own reflection makes his heart twists of horror. He is not a strong god anymore, not the reaper of unfortunate souls that ran the woods a few weeks ago. The calm is back into the town, the tourists are leaving, disappointed, for they never got the thrill of darkness. When he walks the streets, there are only two options: either people step away from him, smelling the alcohol and despair from miles away, or they look at him with a profound pity, an unbearable compassion. He cannot blame them: with the beard eating his cheeks, his eyes duller than the skies, the bones appearing under his skin, and this dusty red jacket that seems to cling on his arms, that seems to never leave him, he looks terrible. He is troubling, and the black wolf walking next to him everywhere he goes does not help. He just emerges from the woods and enters a black shiny car, and he goes away like a knight to war.

 

Everyday, he goes to see Sam, and makes sure he is safe, even if his brother brushed his doubts away a hundred times. Charlie decided to live with him, and her company does not bother any of them, for the redhead is one of the rare colorful things in their life. Even Lucifer, who was constantly complaining about how _annoying_ and how _pathetic_ people were, stayed and was actually helpful. Sam did see Eileen, and everytime he came back, he was someone new. His smile was appearing more often, his aura was getting brighter everyday. Dean could not help but smile at the flame burning in his brother's eyes everytime he was talking about her.

Sam would worry a lot about Dean, trying to help him in any way possible. But there was nothing that could console him now, for he did not even know what he was longing for anymore. He just stayed awake at night so many times, staring at the ceiling, listening to their dog's soft snoring. Lazarus was now his name. The Chosen, the one that was saved. It fits him well, in Dean's opinion.

 

When he could not sleep, he would go outside and stares at the moon rising above the trees. There was something very peaceful about this ghostly, nearly frightening light covering the town. Lazarus would wake and sit by his side, sharing his grief the best he could.

 

Dean prayed a lot too. It started around a week after Castiel disappeared. At first, it was a sea of apologies, but it suddenly evolved to a slow lament, as Dean watched the bottle of whiskey become emptier and emptier. He was begging him to come back, telling him all of this was a terrible mistake. In the worst nights, he was throwing the most incredible slurs to the angel, shouting to the night that it was not his fault, that it was the angels' cruelty striking again. But he would soon realize the weight of his words, how wrong they tasted on his tongue, and how each of them was pushing Castiel away a little more everytime.

He never prayed before. He always thought it was pointless, and that throwing his thoughts into the void was a shame. He was avoiding churches like a wolf avoids the daylight. But now, it became a habit, something he was holding on everyday. That is the way things are now: he wakes up, he goes to Sam's house and spent the day there, before he comes back and prays. When the sadness is growing too heavy on his lungs, he sits there among the trees and speaks to Castiel. His words are never answered and it is with a heart heavier than a stone that he collapse on the bed every night, causing dark circles to appear under his faded eyes.

 

A month has passed and things are not getting better for him. He is trying his best to not show it, but Sam was constantly worried about him, and Dean is fearing his own despair will eat Sam's happiness away. Now that he is finding a normal life again, it is not the moment to drag him down with him. So he keeps smiling and laughing. Deep down, a spark of joy is shining, knowing his brother is moving on, and Eileen seems to be a great part of this change. She came a few times at home, and Dean has to admit she is a true wonder. A beacon of kindness, a light guiding him out of the dark. Sam keeps saying they are just good friends but Dean knows he is lying. It was an emotion he would recognize everywhere. In the way Sam did not let any space between them, in the way he was looking at her with dreamy, lost eyes, in the way he was not the same when she was not there.

 

But this peace was just too good to be true.

 

One night, they were all sitting outside, enjoying the silence of the night. Dean decided to stay a little longer, for their company was the only thing pulling him back from the edge. Candles were burning on the table, projecting warm shadows around them, changing the shape of the angels' open wings. The brothers became more and more comfortable with their presence, and there was no more awkwardness between them. For an ex-amnesiac, a demon and two angels, they were a surprisingly good team.

They were watching the small flames dance in the wind, wrapped up in their coats, when there is a small sound, far away. They all turn their heads to the source of the noise, except for Sam, who is dozing silently.

 

Charlie frowns. “What was that?” She asks.

 

Lucifer shrugs. “Probably an animal.” He answers, before melting back into his seat. Charlies does the same, too tired to protest.

 

Dean is more tense. There is something cold, odd floating in the air. A smell of fire and blood and dirt. He gets up silently, ready to walk away when there is a sudden hand on his arm. He turns back suddenly, to see Lucifer holding him back, wings half open behind him.

“Where are you going?” The Devil asks.

 

“Just making sure it's nothing.” Dean answers, shaking his arm to get rid of Lucifer's grip. Next to him, Lazarus turned to the woods, ears pointed to the depths of the forest, before he starts growling dully. Dean frowns and starts walking to the noise but stops again when he feels a presence next to him.

 

He turns to see Lucifer walking by his side, and raises an eyebrow. As an answer, he shrugs. “I'm just coming with you OK?”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean answers, before crossing the field, his steps echoing in the empty space, screeching on the frozen grass.

 

Dean looks around him, and he is starting to think he is worried for nothing when there are new sounds, growing in the woods. A finger is on the trigger, someone bents his bow, boots are crushing branches. There are muffled voices, cold, hard, cruel. There is a hot anger floating and when Dean lets his soul fly in front of him, it touches other auras, sharp and violent. It snaps back to him and he holds his breath.

 

“What is it?” Lucifer asks, frowning.

 

“The Hunters.” Dean whispers. “They found us.”

 

**X**

 

Before they step back, an arrow rips through the air and passes just above Dean's shoulder. There is a cry of pain and the demon turns back to see Lucifer curling a wing around him, the sharp weapon stuck in the flesh. The blood started flowing from the wound and he looks at the men, confused and hurt.

Dean turns again to see the Hunter walking to them. There are at least twenty of them, and they are all armed to the teeth, with the same poisoned, evil bullets and knives. Fear and wrath shake under Dean's skin and his eyes turn black, as his blood starts boiling inside his veins. He wishes he had his blade with him but he left it in his home, thinking it would be useless now.

 

Lazarus started growling louder next to him, filling Dean's ears with a deep, low sound that does not feel like it belongs to something that was not bigger than his fist a month ago. But now, the dog stares at the Hunters, eyes turning bright red in the night, dark smoke starting to rise from the soil around him.

 

“You didn't tell me you had a Hellhound.” Lucifer says, wincing of pain.

 

Dean gives him an intrigued look. “What do you mean?” He glances back at the Hunters, but these ones are taking their times, knowing neither of them are going to run away. Their hearts are too foolish to renounce now.

 

Lucifer points at the dog. “This. Just like you, Hellhounds are born on Earth and are often the companions of evil creatures. You didn't see it?”

 

“I had other things to think about.” Dean answers softly, giving Lazarus a caress on the head. He is now feeling the dark energy moving under the animal's skin, something he ignored before, thinking it was his mind playing tricks to him.

 

The Hunters are now too close, holding torches illuminated by tall, orange flames. They smile widely, warrior covered of furs and black paint, wearing smiles of sharp teeth and shiny knives. They stop a few feet away and the taller one lets his eyes travel on Dean, who clenches his fists.

“Well, look at what we have here! Could it be our dearest monster?” He glances behind him, smirks. “Where is your angel?”

 

Dean growls, walking slowly to the Hunters, as Lazarus follows him, each of their steps like explosions under the ground, in the heart of the Earth. The Hunters' leader has a little smile. “We saw him a while ago. Could say we left our mark on him.” He says, lowering his head to dive his eyes into Dean's. “Too bad you weren't there. Sure you would have liked it.”

 

The Hunters snicker, and there is a sick flame moving in their eyes. Anger explodes in Dean's brain and the blood lust takes control, as he jumps on them, screaming of rage. Visions of Castiel being touched by these creatures fill his head, make him want to throw up. His mind is on fire and the world turns around him. There are no more woods, no more night skies. It has become a land of fire and blood, a land he must destroy at any cost.

 

The leader raises a hand, and one of the men behind him bents his bow, pointing it at Dean, and all of the other Hunters raise their guns at him, holding their knives and axes tighter. Some of them are shaking, impatient to kill the Beast, to cut his limbs, to put his head on their table. Most of them smell like alcohol and drugs, and reality is twisted around them, colorful and blurry.

 

The archer lets the arrow fly but Dean avoids it, jumping on the foolish man. In one move, his hand dives into his chest and he takes it out suddenly, a dark heart still beating in his hand like a small animal, spurting with monstrous sounds. The corpse falls on his back and Dean turns to the other man, blood dripping from his fingers, his sharp teeth shining in the moonlight, as he drops the heart on the ground. He passes a hand in his hair, leaving it messy and sticky of blood, before his fingers linger on his face, leaving red trails, his war paint.

One man tries to run to him but Dean sees Lucifer snapping his fingers in the corner of the eye, and the Hunter explodes in tiny red pieces, falling on the ground like fresh meat with a sickening sound, the smell of flesh filling Dean's brain, opening his eyes wide of pleasure. He smirks before he steps to the Hunters, his hands shaking like a junkie who did not get his dose. He spent what feels like an eternity playing someone he was not, and he buried a part of him too deep inside.

 

The rest of the group turns to Lucifer, the fear moving in their eyes for the first time. The Devil walks to them, raising his hand again, but the men shoots him once, twice and the bullets fly and fly. He soon falls on his knees, too weak to fight. Blood flows out of his mouth and Dean turns to him. “Run!” He shouts. Lucifer looks like he want to protest but he still gets up and turns away, hobbling to the house.

 

The demon turns back to the Hunters. “What are you waiting for?” He opens his arms, spreading them on his sides like pale wings. “Come and get me!” He screams and Lazarus howls next to him, baying at the moon.

 

Dean wrings a neck, rips an arm, breaks a few ribs. He turns to see the dog ripping flesh with his strong maw, bloody strings hanging from his teeth, and the Hunters start to scream when the wolf seems to become bigger, his red eyes full of damnation staring into their souls. Some of them turn back and start to run to the depths of the woods, but Lazarus comes after them, and screams of pain can be heard soon enough, followed by sounds that would haunt anyone forever, skulls crushed under heavy paws, lungs ripped apart by white teeth.

 

There is a cold touch on Dean's temple, but when he tries to turn around, he knows it would be lethal. It is the leader, his face covered of warm blood, his eyes wide open, filled with madness and horror, and even fascination. His gun is pointed at Dean, and in one move, he could blow his brain like morbid fireworks.

“I want you on your knees.” He says, under his breath, his voice shaking. Dean looks at him in the corner of his eye, estimates his chances to get away. His body is sore and his strength is leaving, and in one move, he could lose his only way to escape. The Hunter dives the gun deeper on his temple. “Do it now!”

 

Dean complies, and gets down on his knees, his hands raised on his sides. The Hunter faces him, the weapon still pointed at him. His fingers suddenly grip Dean's hair, forcing him to look at his hideous face. “How does it feel like? To know you're going to die, hm?” He lets his hand run through Dean's short strands. He tilts his head on his side, looking at him like a strange creature, like a bird under his feet. “Hm, you the great bringer of Death? I'm going to kill you and then they'll all see they were wrong. That you're nothing but a man.” He whispers, his fetid breaths tainted of blood and alcohol surrounding Dean.

 

Dean stares at him without blinking. A part of him thinks of his brother, hoping Charlie and Lucifer will be powerful enough to protect him. Because angels or not, nothing can stand in the way of a man driven by madness and blood lust. He knows something about it.

 

He remembers the time Castiel first saved him. He was not ready to die, he was so desperate to live, to start again, to beg for redemption. But this time has passed and now that he is an empty shell, a lonely ghost staring at the morning rising everyday as if it was the great Reaper coming to take him, he is ready to let the metallic bullet pass through his brain, let it rip his head apart, and let the Hunter carry his corpse behind him. He looks at the man without moving. If Life does not have any savor anymore, what is the point of living it?

“Do it now.” He growls, and he cannot think of the moment his head will roll, his blood flow. The wait is unbearable.

 

The Hunter smiles. He draws back the hammer of his gun. “Last words?”

 

Dean closes his eyes, joins his hands, turns his thoughts to that one angel flying somewhere he does not know. _“I'm sorry.”_ He thinks, acid tears rolling down his cheek. He is ready to jump in the great Empty. He is just taken by an incredible sorrow, knowing he will never see Sam's future, and because he never had the chance to see Castiel again.

 

The Hunter laughs, an awful, loud laugh and he presses the gun on Dean's forehead. “Goodbye, Great Bringer of Death.” He whispers.

 

The detonation resonates in the whole forest, the trees shiver. Light hair is covered by thick black blood, green eyes open wide, empty. A strong, tall body falls on the ground. A leather jacket is soon soaked, as a life flies away. A dark spirit fades, and turns into dust. His evil laughs can still be here floating in the air, his family is already crying on his body.

 

_Red flashes, red spinning flashes. He is sitting in a carousel, his head heavy of pain and liquor, the darkness creating bumps on his skin. He breathes deeply._

 

_**Relief.** _

 

**BLACK.**

 

\------------------------------------------

 

 

Dean's hands are still joined, a blind preacher of Death, wandering in the Empty, the great Void, the Chaos itself. His soul shakes, and it feels like it is leaving his body, only leaving some ribbons of white empty flesh shining under the moonlight, and piles of smooth bones.

 

Something thick, warm flows on his face, something that has a very metallic smell, and it touches his lips. Something falls heavy on the soil.

 

Air gets inside his lungs. Burning, poisoning. It makes his lungs ache, makes him take a sudden breath, a loud gasp searching for the silver to fill him again, with softness, with tenderness.

He opens his eyes, jumping of surprise. He looks around, his heart is distraught, pulsing against his ribs like a monster. The woods welcome him, open their arms wide to enfold him. The moon is still shining above him, huge, full, incredibly bright. The breeze chants in the trees, and the crows seem to sing for him, a strange melody of screams. His look falls on his bloody hands, tied together by invisible ropes, and he is on his knees, praying to the night skies.

 

The Hunters' leader is here.

Laying on the ground, a wound piercing his forehead, red liquid flowing lazily out of the hole, his green eyes wide open. His hair is soaked in blood, his tall silhouette fell on the soil like a tree, with a thud, with just a soft, precious sound of broken bones.

 

There is a rustle, a delicate flutter. Dean raises his head, searching for birds flying into the blackness of the night. But there are none. There is no one around. He is about to get up, and walks to the house, groggy, half asleep, when a fresh wind touches his soul shyly, making his senses explode. He raises his head, and his heart stops.

 

Dark bruises spreading on his tan skin, an arm falling on his side, long and deep cuts covering his limbs, his disheveled black hair soaked with blood and cold sweat, one of his clear eyes surrounded of black, a wing falling behind him, hanging in the dust while the other is folded behind him, a white bandage wrapped around the curve, already turning into a dirty pale red. A pistol falls on the ground, silently like snow.

 

Dean lets a sob escape his throat. He tries to get up, but his legs are too weak under him. He is the Sinner on his knees, begging for forgiveness to the great Saint.

It is not possible. He is dead and this is Hell. He is back into the dark pit again, and this time it is not physical pain, but a torturous electricity running in his veins, creating pictures behind his eyes.

 

The silhouette moves. In a second, it is next to him and it covers him with eyes full of the greatest suffering. A soft voice resonates in Dean's ears, whispering his name.

 

He blinks, thinking his ache is probably strong enough to make him see things. But this voice sounds so real, so real he could almost hold it in his hands.

“Dean?” It says once again and the demon sees for the first time.

 

The angel is in front of him, colors swirling in his eyes, tainted of pain and sorrow. His wings shiver behind him.

“Cas?” Dean blurts, his vision already getting blurry as he raises a shaking hand covered of blood to the familiar face.

 

His fingers touch a soft skin, damaged by long hours of torture and red screams. It may be broken but it is real, it is here. Dean blinks, incapable of believing what he sees. His hand leaves a bloody mark on Castiel's skin, and he removes it hastily, and he does not want to hurt him anymore. He has already done so much.

And at the same time, he burns, he burns so bright, and his hands find their way back on Castiel's face, framing it with caution, as if he could break like glass under his hot touch. The sensations come back one by one. He thought they were faded, that they will never come back. But yet, here they are here, singing in his blood like gold. He is breathless, speechless. His heart beats furiously in his chest, shouting, burning, frozen.

 

_Oh, what time can do to you…_

 

“I'm so sorry.” He whispers, and his lips flutter about on Castiel's face. He presses them softly on every cut, every sharp bone, and it is like tasting Life again.

 

Tears fall and when Dean puts a burning, shaking kiss on Castiel's cold lips, the woods are set on fire and the night explodes, as the angel spreads his broken wings behind him. Dean's hands never leave his face, holding him tight against him, because he will not let his sun go away, he will not let the winter come again. For now, he just wants to burn under his touch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	8. Fire and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You are so beautiful.  
> My heart cannot keep up, it beats with ten thousands w i n g s."

“Tell me everything.”

 

Castiel blinks, raises his head when he hears Dean's voice, soft and warm in the cold night. They are both sitting on the bed, and everytime Dean dives the needle in his shoulder, he winces of pain.

All his limbs, all his skin is just fire and ice. He has several broken ribs, severe dark bruises, and he lost a lot of blood, leaving him pale and shaking. Dean is stitching one of his wounds, and despite his careful, gentle moves, the pain blooms like flowers in spring in all his arm. He observes the demon's sharp features as this one narrows his eyes to focus on his task.

 

This month felt like centuries, never-ending and dusty, and he barely recognizes Dean. With the shadows painted across his face, the beard eating his cheeks, and his hair sticky of blood and sweat, pointing in every direction, he is far away from the bright soul Castiel knew not so long ago. But at the same time, this gap of time between them snapped suddenly back to him and it is not odd, it is not wrong. He is drowning back into this eyes, into this warmth like he never left them, not really.

 

Remembering Dean's words, he clears his sore throat. “What do you mean?” He asks.

 

Dean finishes the last stitch and puts the bloody needle down, before diving his eyes into Castiel's. There is a mixture of joy and pain in them, of relief and tiredness. “Why did you leave?” He says, his voice low and deep as if it was causing him too much strength to speak.

 

Castiel shifts on his seat. His wings hurt like hell. Them, that were so beautiful and majestic, the proof he was still a being coming from the skies, a star brushing the earth with its feet of silver dust. Now, they look miserable, tattered, broken, like shreds of night hanging on his back. He tries to fold the right one but it only causes a sharp pain in it, and he has a strangled cry. Dean looks at him, worry and grief swirling blue around him. “What's wrong?” He asks, reaching out to Castiel.

 

“Nothing.” The angel answers, biting his tongue to swallow the violent emotions back. His eyelids are heavy, and he dreams of billion of years of sleep. Warm, golden sleep. That would be bliss.

 

Dean frowns, his look darkens. “Don't lie to me.” He says, and when Castiel raises dull, scared eyes to him, the expression on his face softens. “Just tell me.” He says gently.

 

Castiel swallows hardly, and tries to find a comfortable position. “I think this one is broken.” He whispers, moving his right wing slightly, fearing the pain that will jump on him at any time. Then, he points at the left one, the one with the dirty bandage around the curve. “I don't feel anything in this one.” He adds, lowering his piteous remains of grace.

 

Dean holds out to him and carefully lands a hand on the left wing, to start. He unwraps the rough fabric, only to discover a bleeding wound, a scar left by a sharp bullet. Next to it, there is another hole, nearly entirely healed, starting to be cover by new, short feathers. He touches the wound and Castiel freezes, his body tense. A bright, clear blood covers Dean's fingers when he removes them, and guilt grows inside him, as he stands up to get new bandages in his bag.

The angel follows his every move as he rips a piece of the white clean fabric with his teeth. He took one of his t-shirts and presses it gently on the wound, but with enough strength to stop the bleeding. He then wraps the bandage around the curve, carefully, with slow motions, his eyes fixed on the wing that shivers under his touch. Castiel lets his own travel on him, and once again, he is struck by the sight of Dean.

 

He almost looks like a stranger. His cheeks grew hollow and Castiel could let a ball of grace make its nest in them. His hair is a little longer too, and a soft shadow started to spread on his jaw and around his mouth, the sides of his face. His eyes are duller, a faded green with timid sparks of gold. He is still wearing the leather jacket Castiel gave him, and it is dusty, clinging to his body like a second skin, as if he did not take it off once. But the most shocking is his soul. Where it was bright, swirling, a swarming darkness with hints of green and blue, or red when he was taken by violent emotions, it is now a dark gray almost motionless around him. A few lights started to appear but they seem to be far away, like traffic lights in the fog, in the rain, in the night. It is such a wrenching thing to see him like this.

 

Castiel snaps back to reality when Dean touches the other wing, the one who hangs piteously behind him, as if it was only linked to his body by thin, fragile threads. Dean shakes his head, his eyes darkening again. “What happened?” He asks, moving back to look at Castiel.

 

“The Hunters.” He answers, knowing it would be pointless to lie, and most of all, he does not want to lose Dean's trust. Not now. “When I left, I didn't go too far and even if I still don't know how, they found me. They thought you were with me, and so they...” He stops, pain and fear twisting his guts. He dives his eyes into Dean's, memories circling in them. “They wanted to know where you were.”

 

Dean's eyes open wider. “They… they tortured you?”

 

Castiel nods as if it was nothing important. “If that's your question, then no. I didn't tell them where you were.” He says, trying to keep his expression as serious and calm as possible, sitting right, wings held as high as possible, eyes as cold as the sea.

 

Dean frowns and he opens his mouth, before he closes it again. He thinks for a second, and speaks. “You think I'd have been mad if you told them?” He asks, incredulous.

 

“Of course.” Castiel answers, now puzzled himself. “I'd have betrayed you.”

 

“C'mon are you hearing yourself?!” Dean shouts suddenly, making the angel flinch on the bed. “Can't you just stop worrying about me and care about yourself?!”

 

Castiel lowers his head, plays with a thread coming out of his t-shirt. “I'm not the one I care most about.” He whispers, a lump on his throat.

 

Dean stares at him, speechless, incapable of believing such a thing. He wishes he could add something but he would feel hypocritical. When he wanted to save Sam, did not he throw himself into danger? And when the Hunter was about to kill him, did not he accept his death, only thinking of the angel who abandoned him?

 

Yet, he could not compare the two of them. In his mind, he was just an ant, a speck of dust on the ground the wind could brush away. Castiel was born in the stars and it was just too awful to know some brutal humans could have hurt him in any way. Dean may not be a saint, and he did some terrible things that would make the bravest man shiver like a child, but the Hunters are another kind of cruel. Their thirst for power and cruelty is beyond control, and nothing could justify their actions. Dean was born a demon, and the Mark shines red on his arm, poisoning him slowly every day. They were the same, hunting their preys down in the woods, living in the night and the dust, but yet, only him was seen as a monster.

And now that he thinks of it, what makes a monster? Because when he is not under the control of anger and rage, he is just like anyone. He is capable of laughing, and crying, and suffering. He is capable of caring about his brother, and missing his family every day. He is capable of loving, and throwing all his self into the feeling, jumping into a forbidden, burning sea. He feels it just like anyone else, he can be angry, grieving, joyful, ashamed about it. He never pretended to be someone good, or righteous. But when he looks at his brother, at Charlie, at Castiel, he does not feel like a monster either. 

So, what makes a monster? If it is by his actions, then this world is full of monsters, he thinks. A beast like him did not chose to become one. Everyone pretend to be good and do the most awful things, and yet the only detail that would make them point at someone, was the fact he could not restrain what was screaming in his mind. The Hunters, they think they are better than him because their eyes do not turn black, and they walk this Earth like it belongs to them, like the simple fact of being human was justifying the horror of their moves. _“We're doing it for humanity!”_ They would say. But in reality, they **chose** to be monsters. Yes, they had the freedom of choice, and it turned them into abominations.

 

Dean blinks and looks away to focus on the other wing. He feels it under his hand, trying to be as gentle as possible but the limb seems to be very sensible, for Castiel clenches his jaw everytime he touches it. “It'll heal.” The angel says coldly.

 

“I know,” Dean says. “But you can't stay like that. You’ve got to be careful or it'll be worse.” He stops to think. He knows how to heal a broken leg or arm, but a wing? How is he supposed to put a splint on it, when it is as thin as paper? He sighs deeply. “Do you think it'd be better if you kept if folded?” He asks.

 

Castiel gives his wing a look and tries to move it behind him. He grits his teeth when the pain blooms, sharp and black. He keeps moving it slowly until the long feathers are close to his body, framing it like black swords. He waits, but nothing comes. The ache is still here, but it is faded, just a dark light in the back of his mind. He sighs of relief. “Yes, it's better.” He says, closing his eyes, enjoying the fresh sensation.

 

“Ok, we'll just tie it and we'll see.” Dean says, before he throws Castiel a clean t-shirt. “Here, puts this on.”

 

Castiel puts the clothe on, trying to ignore the screams of his own body when he moves. The whole time, Dean stares at him, always amazed by the illusion it creates when the wings spurts out the fabric like it was just made for them. When Castiel is done, he walks to him and rips the t-shirt he used to stop the bleeding, before he passes the long ribbon behind Castiel's back, and ties it on his side, keeping the wing close to his body, hoping the bones will slowly heal this way.

“I ran because I was foolish.” Castiel suddenly says, making Dean raise his head, confused. The angel puts serious eyes on him, still bright in the night. “I thought it was better this way. That if I was away, my feelings would disappear. That I could come back and fix my mistakes, and help you with your brother.” He stops, his eyelids fluttering like butterflies. “I tried to convince myself loving _you_ was a mistake.”

 

Dean's heart stops. No matter what he thought this past month, it was nothing compared to the sound of these words ringing into his ears. “Cas-” He says but his voice is too low, his throat too sore and dry.

 

Castiel dives his eyes into his, holding his gaze. “When you died and I left Heaven to search you, my brothers warned me. If I was going this way, there would be no turning back. But I didn't listen and I came to save you. After I raised your soul and built your body back, and you came back to Earth, I went back to tell them you were saved. But I wasn't careful enough and they saw my feelings for you. They told me it was a sin.” He stops, takes a deep breath. “I tried to tell them they were wrong, that it was nothing like this, but lying to them only convinced them I didn't belong in Heaven anymore. That's how I fell.”

He is breathless and Dean stares at him without a noise, too mesmerized by the angel's words, who gathers his strength before he continues. “When I landed on Earth, I was lost. I didn't know where to go, but something was drawing me to this city and so I walked to reach it. At first, I didn't know why I was here, and I was still very weak. I found this house-” He gives the chalet a look. “-and I started living a normal life. I was thinking about the soul I saved a lot, but somehow, I knew it was safe. I couldn't sense it anymore, but I _knew_ it was out here.”

 

He takes another breath, his eyes lost into space, into these memories that sound so odd, and yet so wonderful to Dean. “One day, I was in town and something was... strange. I didn't know what it was but the sensation was familiar. It has been years since I felt it. And then-” He blinks, tears rolling on the tip of his eyelashes. “-then I saw you. You were walking the streets like you owned them and before I even saw your true form, I recognized your soul. It was so bright and alive...”

 

He glances at Dean and the demon keeps staring at him, his eyes full of grief and regret. He keeps going. “When I was building you up in Hell, we started talking. Not with words of course, but with sensations, colors, sounds. It was… something I'll never forget. But when I tried to face you, you just walked next to me. You didn't recognize me.” He whispers, bleeding inside. “I couldn't believe it and everyday, I'd wait for you and watch you walk. Even if it hurt, it was enough. You were safe.” He takes a deep breath, shaking. “And then one day, I heard you following me. I know it was nothing good, and your soul was so red… You wanted to kill me but I didn't care. I _wanted_ it. I thought you'd do it, but at the last second, you disappeared. And then, the Hunters came after you, and I saved you. You know the rest.”

 

He stops, shaking of cold, drops of sweat rolling down his spine. His eyes are fixed on Dean with such a strength the demon shivers. Castiel covers him with the most tender, hurtful look. “I'm in love with you since I saw you, and it'll never stop, even if I wanted to.” He says in a breath, his fingers brushing against Dean's cheek shyly.

 

Dean holds his breath, the words striking like lightning in his heart, illuminating his dark mind. Colors bloom suddenly in his soul and Castiel's eyes open wide, watching the explosions around him, tainting his aura again. Slowly, carefully, the dull gray turns into a soft green, black in the center, red on the edges. And this red is not threatening, not bright and light. It is a warm, it is dark red, nearly burgundy colored, shifting and moving like a hot sea. It is a rare color, and Castiel did not see it often in people. It was coming from a too strong emotion, something that could never be felt about him. Unless…

Castiel raises confused, hopeful eyes to Dean, and flashes of the hour before fill his mind. The way Dean looked at him as if he was the most hurtful vision, the way his hands fluttered to his face, framed it like he was fragile and precious. The way his lips landed on his skin, on every open wound, before they fell on his mouth, burning and tasting like blood and tears, hot and cold at the same time, fire and ice, ash and rain.

 

Dean blinks, his soul swirling silver and red like a pond kept by fairies. “I prayed to you...” He starts to whisper, broken glass in his throat.

 

Castiel's heart aches. “I know.” He answers softly. “And I wanted to come back everytime.”

 

“You heard me?” Dean blurts. When Castiel nods, ashamed, his eyes open, incredulous. “You heard what I said to you?”

 

Once again, Castiel nods slightly. These prayers haunt his mind. “I didn't believe it.” He admits, lowering his head.

 

Dean shakes his head, too tired to answer. On the worst nights, when there was a not a drop left of alcohol, or when he was awfully sober, he would let the words flow to the angel, and thinking he would never see him again, did not feel any shame. These words were tainted of sorrow and guilt mostly, but when the morning was about to rise and Dean felt the tenderness of the night go away, he would scream and whispers his feelings to the void. He poured them out like a bright fountain of crystal and diamond. They meant so much to him, but not a single time he believed they would ever matter to the angel. Little did he know Castiel was listening to him every night, hidden in the depths of the woods, or beaten, half dead under the Hunters' knives and whips.

 

He gets up and sits back next to Castiel. They stay like this for a moment, silent. Castiel's wing curls a little around Dean, instinctively, but their eyes are lost in space. The long feathers brush against Dean's hand, and even if they are sharp, the touch is soothing, soft as honey.

 

Before Dean can realize what is happening, blinding, deafening memories explode in his mind.

 

**X**

 

_Fresh blue aura surrounding him, wrapping itself around his tired bones. A soft voice, or maybe a thousand of them, whispering promises to his ears. A hand in his own, a ball of light curled into his palm as he watched threads of grace flow through his fingers. Blood, gold, silver. The sea was rushing through him and there was a fire inside his heart, shining brightly into the dark. The being never left him, even in the blackest nights, he was still here, he held him close against his heart. And this heart, oh this heart! It beat like a drum behind this warm chest of clear water, it was a bird, a lullaby he listened to when he fell asleep every night. The voice hummed soft words in a foreign language, and this was the song of the stars and the void between them. Everyday, the being picked one of his broken pieces and put it back together, creating him again, making him whole. And everytime, colors appeared around it, and Dean did not understand why they were here, until he saw them shift and change when the creature's emotions were different._

 

_As his shape was starting to be human-like again, his thoughts were brighter and brighter, and these wild feelings pulsing in his chest were starting to grow and heat covered his skin like a hot plain everytime the creature landed a finger on him. His heart beat faster and everytime the being spoke to him, it was filled with a strange, delicate emotion. At first he tried to ignore it but as days, months, years passed, the storm inside his head only grew stronger. It was breaking against his skull, making every breaths he took short and nearly painful. He was mesmerized by this sea of light, this creature coming from another world, another dimension, how it was so soft with him when he burned entire fields of Hell when he rose above it. He was fascinated and sometimes, when he looked at this wave of grace, a silhouette shaped before his eyes. Hair as black as the night, eyes bluer than the morning sky on a summer day. He would curl up into this arms and what he was feeling was pure bliss, Heaven he would dare to say._

 

_And then one day, he was whole again. It felt like a flood, like a rain, a small explosion inside him and he was standing on his two feet. He was standing in an empty plain. It was not made of anything he knew, rather of a white fog that was swirling lazily around him, shaping into blurry silhouettes of trees and mountains, lakes and gardens. He turned around, smiling widely, enjoying the feeling of being himself again, when he saw **him**._

 

_The creature was standing right there, staring at him fondly. Now that he was capable of seeing everything like it really was, the sight of him was even more incredible. It was like Dean was seeing two different things at the same time, two pictures put one on the other. One was showing a man with soft features and a gentle smile, the other a wild sea rising up, moving, chanting behind him, and there were hands, and halos, and eyes, and thousands of wings beating in the breeze like long threads of starry nights. He stared back at him, amazed, and his steps led him right to the stranger that was not one anymore. His fingers reached out to him and the second after, they were brushing against a warm skin, a soft strand of hair, a silky black feather. The being seemed to hold his breath, and did not move when Dean suddenly leaned forward and put his lips on his._

 

_It started gently, shyly before it turned burning, desperate and the creature finally breathed, and gripped his arm as if it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. He melted under the kiss, breathing cold under Dean, wings beating like stars exploding into the dark, his head tilting, the emotions burning on the tip of his tongue._

 

_**And then.** _

 

_Dean's eyes open and the woods surround him, as well with his usual anger and blood lust. He gets up and the Hunters face him, trembling, eyes wide open of terror. He walks to them and turn them into a puddle of blood and guts and bones, screaming into the night. Oh Great Reaper, why won't you take me into your cold arms? Oh you cruel lover, oh you monster of silver!_

_He left the town behind him and when he raised his head, the night was clear and fresh and there was a deflagration and a shooting star ripped the skies apart, burning bright on the black velvet, and he thought “What a strange night.” Then, he ran as fast as the light, as the star seemed to crash where he was running from._

 

**X**

 

Dean has a strangled cry, jumps on the bed, grips the white sheets. His t-shirt is soaked of cold sweat and he is shaking. He turns to see Castiel looking at him, worried. “Dean what happened?” He asks, fear piercing in his voice.

 

Dean swallows and his mind is still illuminated by the visions. When he manages to calm his distraught heartbeats, he takes a deep breath and dives his eyes into Castiel's. “I remember everything.” He whispers, his voice husky and coarse.

 

Castiel frowns. “What are you talking about?” He asks, tiredness painted on his features.

 

Dean looks at him deeply. “I remember Hell. I remember you saving me, healing me.” He stops, his eyes soften as he tries to find the right words, before he dives back into Cas'. “I remember what I felt about you.”

 

Castiel blinks a few times, confusion swirling in his irises. “It's not possible.” He blurts. “They erased your memories. You shouldn't be able to remember.”

 

“But I do,” Dean says, and he gets closer to him. “And I remember falling for you.” He adds, leaning to Cas.

 

Just like in the visions, the angel does not move at first, frozen under the shock but when Dean's lips meet his, sensations explode inside him. It is a sun rising inside him, a wind blowing, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. It is soft lakes of honey shining behind his closed eyelids as he melts under the kiss, breathing into Dean, his scent of pines and blood. His hand travels from the rough skin of his jaw to his hair, gripping it to draw him closer to him. Dean is warm and tender and _home_.

 

When they pull apart, the stay for a moment forehead resting against each other's, bathing into sighs and night. They lay on the bed, and Dean immediately find his place in Castiel's arms, who holds him close to his chest, his hand resting on the demon's head.

Before he falls asleep, heavy of slumber and emotions that left him empty, Dean hears Castiel's soft voice. “You remember when I told you only angels could see souls?” He asks.

 

Dean nods and right now, he can only see Castiel's soul pulsing around them, blue and green and pink and orange as a morning rising. The angel caresses his hair soaked in blood. “I think I gave you this ability when I saved you.” He says, his voice already slowed down by sleep.

 

Dean wraps his arm around his waist and buries his head into his neck. “I'm glad you did.” He mutters, letting his own soul wrap itself around Castiel's, flowing around his bruised body, his broken wings, dive under his skin like a pale lake, healing him with tenderness.

 

Lazarus shakes himself and jumps on the bed, leaving the trail of his bloody paws before he yawns and falls between them, curling up into a ball. He soon starts to snore and his pointy ears shake as he starts dreaming of, well, whatever Hellhounds dream of. The dog is now deeply asleep and it is hard to believe he was ripping flesh and bone apart just an hour ago, howling at the moon, eyes flashing hot red.

 

Castiel has a soft laugh. “I didn't remember we adopted a wolf.” He whispers and Dean's laughter shakes his chest, before he snuggles closer to the angel and falls into slumber, soon followed by Castiel, and Sleep could not wash his smile away.

 

**X**

 

In the town, the woman smiles. Everything is going the way she wanted.


	9. Just The Beginning

Lightning strikes. The black clouds cover the town, make the pale yellow sun disappear, project their shadows on the humans wandering in the streets. The air is electric, shaking, dives into their lungs like liquid fire. The storm sings, tastes the threats on its tongue, swallows them back, growls like a rabid wolf, feels the acid crashing in its stomach, before it spits them out, dark and cold. The rain falls, merciless and wonderful, the tears of beings with stone hearts.

Dean glowers at the sky, frowning. The weather is not just bad, it is strange. There is something moving around him, trying to dive under his skin, jump into the sea of his blood, wrap itself around his veins. He shakes his frozen limbs, trying to chase the sensation away, in vain. There is a darkness calling him, ripping him from reality, and the world turns around him. The woods are clear, and suddenly completely out of focus, and they are dull and gray before they become too bright, almost blinding, red flames swirling in front of his eyes, burning his retina. The trees are covered by cold fire and when he blinks, the silence comes back, thick white coat of dust. He coughs and blackness and blood gets stuck inside his throat, thick old roses papering his lungs.

 

When it feels like a whole desert came into his lungs, his only soft memory is the night before. He fell asleep and woke up to the sound of Castiel's soft breathing, and the heat of his chest surrounding him. The angel thrown an arm around his waist, holding him as close as possible. Dean felt a heavy weight on his legs and when he moved to look at it, it was just Lazarus, curled up into a ball of darkness, snoring in the morning light. He got up silently, pushing the cold sheets away, leaving the soft freshness behind. The dog raised his sleepy head and looked at him, his dark eyes full of an intelligence that unsettled Dean.

 

He is now sitting on the cold soil and he lets his thoughts fly freely, as his fingers pass through the dog's thick fur, still soaked in blood. There is nothing violent or scary anymore about him, just his calm, bright aura floating like a cloud above him, as he closes his eyes under the caress. Dean observes the woods, this home that welcomed him with arms wide open. It is the only place where he is not suffocating, but right now, the air is too heavy on his head, the sky like a cast iron lid, crushing his brain between heavy hands. His blood is boiling and he wishes he could calm it down, ease the anger that is coming from nowhere. He has to see his brother, make sure he is safe, and a part of him even wants to know if Lucifer made it. But he cannot come like this, not like a volcano ready to explode and cover the world with fire and ashes.

He takes deep breaths, holds them, tries to empty his mind, before he exhales deeply, letting all the wrath go away. His father used to teach him how to keep control when the Mark was becoming more powerful everyday, for the way the air was filling his lungs, silver and cold, used to ease him everytime. But now, he could not do it. Every breaths he takes explode inside him, blood glitter, and instead of appeasing his emotions, it is only making them worse, tickling the darkness inside him with a stick, making it growl dully, making it show its teeth of ice.

 

He starts biting his tongue and focuses on the pain blooming in his mouth, the metallic taste flowing inside, when a hand lands on his shoulder, pushing the dark sea away in one motion. His eyes open suddenly and he turns back, his heart racing at the speed of light, his anger snuggling into his bones, only to see Castiel covering him with a half tender, half worried look.

“Dean, is everything OK?” He says, as he sits softly next to him, Lazarus immediately jumping on his lap. The angel runs his fingers distractedly in his fur.

 

Dean shakes his head. “Nothing. Just tired.” He answers.

 

Castiel frowns, and his hand lingers on Dean's shoulder, and the demon sees his blue grace floating around him like thin fluorescent veins, wrapping themselves around his arms. “Are you sure?” He asks softly.

 

Dean nods and turns his head to look at him, his green irises diving into Cas'. “Yeah, sure.” His look travels on Castiel's wings hanging behind him. “What about you?” He says, pointing at them.

 

Castiel has a thin smile, but pain clearly freezes it. “Well, it hurts. But I'm fine.” He moves his free wing a little, but his eyes fall on the folded one, tied close to his back. “Mostly.” He adds, still smiling with bitterness, dull sorrow weighing down on him.

 

Lazarus gets up suddenly and shakes himself, projecting drops of blood and dirt on them, and they cover their faces from the rain coming from the dog. When they open their eyes again, he is sitting silently in front of them, his tongue hanging from his maw, open in a kind of smiley expression. Dean glances at Castiel and holds back a laugh when he sees the angel's face covered of forest soil and pine needles. Dean brushes them off, and when his fingers touch Castiel, he shuts his eyes tightly in the most adorable way, for a celestial being capable of erasing a town by snapping his fingers.

 

Dean smiles widely and watches Castiel carefully opening his eyes again. “Well, I know someone who needs a goddamn bath!” Dean says, turning to the dog again, whose ears suddenly flatten on his head, as he closes his mouth and looks at him with his so disturbing, clever eyes.

The demon gets up and holds out his hand to Castiel, and helps him getting back on his feet. Almost instinctively, his fingers lace up with the angel's and he squeezes his warm palm in his, covering him with a blinding smile, and he sees Castiel's soul pulse softly under the emotion.

 

Washing the dog is not as easy as he thought. The beast keeps running in circles, terrified at the idea of being clean again. Dean runs after him, shouting his name, his arms stretched out in front of him, trying to catch the wolf, but this one is as fast as light and everytime his fingers brush against him, he vanishes to appear again several feet away from him. Castiel is holding a hose, and is grinning widely at Dean's useless attempts and threats. The demon glares at him, sweat already covering his features with shiny, transparent pearls.

Castiel whistles softly and Lazarus stops, his ears pointing at him, his dark eyes wide open as he watches Castiel's grace shape into glimmering balls of light around him. The angel calls his name and the dog trots obediently to him, causing an incredulous look from Dean, who rolls his eyes, desperate, before he walks back to them. Castiel covers the dog with fresh water and starts scrubbing his thick fur, his fingers getting stuck in millions of knots. The ground turns to bloody mud at their feet and he watches the soil swirls with the Hunters' veins into a gruesome pond, screams still echoing in Lazarus' starry, gentle eyes.

 

After an hour and muscles turning sore, the dog's fur is now glossy and more black than ever, like covered by the deepest winter night. Castiel has a satisfied smile and turns to Dean, his clothes wet and covered of dog hairs and dust. “See? That was easy!” He says before nudging at Dean with the tip of his wing. “He likes me better!” He adds, and it is now Dean's turn to elbow him in the ribs, only causing a waterfall of laugh from Castiel, filling the empty morning around them.

 

A thud makes them turn and causes Castiel's smile to fade, and Dean to burst out laughing. Lazarus took advantage of their inattention to start rolling on the ground, covering his clean fur of leaves and mud, before he shakes himself and looks at them with his so human kind of smile, white fangs shining under Castiel's speechless look and Dean's loud, clear laugh. The angel turns to him and the demon only laughs harder. Castiel pouts, falsely angry, before he discreetly turns the hose on, pointing at the beaming demon.

The water spurts out, joyful and pale, explodes into the dull skies like a firework of fairies and spirits, ghosts of lakes and oceans. Dean raises his hands to protect himself but he is too slow and before he can realize, he is already soaked.

 

He moves away from Castiel, whining with miserable little noises. “Stop it!” He shouts. His eyes open, green like the leaves in spring, like the fields moving under the wind, with splinters of gold like pieces of sun falling in those sea of emeralds. “It's freaking cold!” He says, his hair flattened in short strands on his head, as he starts shivering.

 

Castiel has a soft smile and the water stops running like it was never there. He walks to the shaking demon. “Sorry,” He says. “Let's go inside.” He adds with another soft laugh, as his steps lead him to the chalet.

 

They enter the house and Dean heads to the bathroom, his arms wrapped around himself, cursing the cold drops falling down his spine. Lazarus follows them, still shining of joy, letting the trail of his dirty paws behind him.

 

The room is quite big, with the same warm walls covered of wood, with heavy vine falling from the ceiling, hanging above their heads like a dark sky splattered of green. It was obviously someone wealthy who lived there, for the furniture is delicate and rich, with golden handles and crystal clear mirrors framed by the same material. The floor is covered by large light brown tiles, warm under Dean's frozen feet. Naked light bulbs hang from the roof, projecting their hot sun colored aura around them, creating a crown of light on Castiel's head. Strange plants grows on the walls, their roots diving into the wooden floor, coming from God knows where, with dark flowers with ruby red hearts blooming.

In the back of the room, there is a large bathtub, blinding white porcelain coming from the skies, with elaborate legs made of gold, but Dean walks to the shower, that is just delimited by darker tiles. There is an only an opening on the ground, covered by thin bars of the same deep yellow, and Dean would imagine the water swirling with the soap, perfumed storm diving into the soil, trapped in silver pipes, before they are thrown out back to the sea, pure and limpid.

 

When the water flows down, it is hot and steam soon starts to shape into odd clouds. Dean throws his clothes on the ground and slips under the shower head, gold and vine swirling together to the ceiling. He starts rubbing his chest, for his ripped t-shirt let all the dust, sweat and blood cover his skin like a dirty veil. All his limbs are sore, and he still feels the dull pain in his shoulder, memory of when the Hunters shot him that one fateful night, as well with the one under his heart, caused by the sharp arrow that flew to him like the hand of Death. The night before, they only left scratches here and there, thin red marks leaving strange patterns on his arms. Dirt and blood falls on the tiles, mixed into an odd painting at his feet. He is about to raise his hands to shake the dust from his hair when he realizes Castiel has entered the room with him but did not move since.

Dean turns back and crosses Castiel's eyes, and the angel's cheeks are about as red as rubies in the sunset. Dean raises an eyebrow. “What?” He asks.

 

Castiel shakes his head, ill-at-ease. “Nothing. Just...” He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Maybe I should wait outside.”

 

Dean has a little laugh, and walks out of the shower to him, only causing Castiel to blurt indistinct words. “Unless you're planning to stay like that,” Dean starts, gesturing at Cas' heavy strands of hair falling on his forehead and the blood splattered on his face. “You'll have to join. Besides, I need to check on your wing.” Castiel seems to hesitate, frozen under Dean's shiny eyes. “C'mon, don't be shy, angel.” The demon adds, punching Castiel softly on his shoulder.

 

Castiel glowers at him but still unties carefully the fabric holding his wing still. He winces when it falls on the ground and the limb unfurls instinctively on his side, the feathers shivering of hot pain. His look travel on the other one, that seems way more angel-like. Apart from the dirty bandage, it falls neatly behind him with a soft rustle. He takes the rest of his clothes off and follows Dean to the shower. He flinches when the hot water hits his skin, burning at first, before it becomes soft and incredibly soothing, diving into his aching muscles.

Dean hands him the soap, and he starts cleaning his skin, covered of dry blood and dirt. Soon, he starts to feel better, all the weight of this night going away with the bubbles and foam, the red water turning slowly back to transparent at his feet. He takes a deep breath, feeling like the warmth of a normal life is starting to settle in him, whatever a normal life means now.

 

He raises his eyes and his gaze falls on a dark mark on Dean's chest. The black tattoo contrasts with his pale skin. It is a star with five sharp tips, surrounded by a circle, itself covered by thick flames of ink. He reaches out to it, and his fingers lands on the strange piece of art. “What is it?” He asks Dean, whose eyes did not leave him for one second.

 

“Well it's meant to protect you from demonic possession.” He says with a thin smile. “Sam and I found it one day in one of our dad's books. We thought it was kind of fun, so we did it.” His smiles spreads wider when the memories flash before his eyes. “Don't think we were one hundred percent sober.” He adds with a laugh tainting his voice.

 

Castiel smiles back at him, and proceeds to do his hair. He shakes it, dust and thin pine needles falling down. He takes the bottle of shampoo, watches the transparent green liquid fills his hand like a small scented puddle. Actually, it belongs to Dean, and Castiel finds himself falling back into memories where he breathed deeply into his hair, filling his lungs with trees, and sun, and salt, and oceans. He rinse his hair and raises his head to see the demon struggling with his own, that looks more like a raven's nest. Short strands of sand colored hair tied themselves to others, and dry blood created patches on them like red ice on the road.

“Here, let me.” Castiel says, before he raises his hands to help Dean. His gestures are careful, gentle but he rubs his head with enough strength, like moving waters, like beating his wings to create storms. It may be pure and soothing, but the blood ends up falling like red specks on the cold floor. For Dean is just a little taller than him, he has to stand on his toes to reach the top of his head, and the demon keeps staring at him, blinking when drops of water fall on his eyelashes. His eyes burn him, his look is intense and deep, and it feels like it is a sea crashing down on him, swallowing him in one mouthful.

 

“What?” Castiel asks, his voice low and husky.

 

As an answer, the demon leans suddenly to him and his kiss makes Castiel's grace explode inside him into millions of shiny threads. Yes, he is there, standing in the desert and it is all the oceans tumbling down on him, crashing and breaking, licking his shores. He tilts his head to melt under him a little more, and there are drops of water flowing down his face to jump on his lips. He takes a sudden deep breath, yes breathing Dean's breaths, the hot evil clouds. Behind his closed eyelids, the world is spinning around, like a record full of colors and sounds, sensations and tastes. The tip of his tongue meets Dean's, and it explodes once again, it is a firework, fire meeting ice, oceans meeting earth. Sweet honey flowing lazily and sharp spicy hot touch. His hand finds his way to Dean's shoulder, the one he held on tight when he rose above Hell, his fingers wrapping themselves around the muscle like claws of silk and breeze. Dean's arms are around his waist, holding him close, facing him chest to chest, oh the sweet enemy. His beard itches his cheeks, it burns with softness. Castiel's hand now grips his hair, drawing him closer and closer and when his wings unfurl without control behind him, he barely notices the pain. He just breathes him in, fills himself with rose gold and seas of blue fire.

 

When the demon moves back slowly, Castiel lets a soft moan of protest escape his mouth and his grip on Dean's shoulder tighten, only causing a soft laugh from him. Why would he leave right now? Why would he take back the water, let him become a dry desert again?

“For someone who didn't want to come, you're enjoying this way too much.” Dean says, and Castiel pushes him with his wing. “Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind staying like that all day but we have other things to do-”

 

Castiels cuts him off with another kiss that Dean welcomes gladly, his hands raising to frame the angel's face, before he gives him a last loud peck on his lips. He steps back and stops the water that is still running, spurting liquid crystals around them before they crash on the ground, diamonds scattered on the tiles. He takes a towel and wraps it around his waist, as Castiel does the same.

“Let me see that.” Dean says, closing the space between to look at the wings. The one that took the bullet is mostly fine, as Castiel said, and the wound is already healing, thin sparks of grace filling the hole from time to time, striking in threads like electricity. By contrast, he seems to have hard time holding the other one right, and it drops behind him before he gathers his strength back to raise it again. Dean lets a hand wander on it, and Castiel flinches, forcing him to be more careful.

 

Dean does not know much about wings, and even less about angels, so what can he do to help him? It is not like he can see a doctor or anything. He bites his lips, frustrated. Castiel raises his eyes to look at him. “Don't worry, it'll heal one day or another.” He says, but there is still a hint of doubt in his words, as if he did not believe in them himself.

 

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose.” He passes a hand in his hair, leaving it pointing in every direction. “I have to see Sam, make sure he is OK. Are you coming?” He asks, heading to the main room.

 

Castiel follows his steps, silent and peaceful. “Why are you even asking?” He says softly and Dean turns to him, eyes shining. “Of course.” Cas says gently.

 

“Alright. Dress up first.” His eyes travel on the angel with a devilish smirk. “As much as I like it, there's no way you go like this.”

 

Castiel has a little laugh. “I know that, Dean.” He says. “But I have a condition first.”

 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What?” He asks, already walking slowly to him, his eyes falling on his lips, as they are getting darker, swirling of dangerous, impetuous emotions.

 

Castiel takes his face in his hands, drawing him closer, his eyes diving into his seas of flames, and he sees Dean holding his breath. He leans to him before he has a smirk. “Shave.” He says, stepping back suddenly, enjoying the incredulous look painted on Dean's face. He pushes him back to the bathroom with his wing. “Now!”

 

The demon grumbles and disappears into the room still full of hot fog. “Winged idiot.” He mutters to himself, amusement piercing in his voice.

 

“I heard that!” Castiel shouts as an answer, and he cannot help the smile spreading on his lips like the sun shines on the horizon every morning.

 

**X**

 

“I could give you another jacket, you know.” Castiel says at some point.

 

Dean turns to him, before his eyes fall on the dirty red leather wrapped around his chest, surrounding him with a scented bubble of warmth and memories. They have been walking for a few minutes, for Dean wanted to show Castiel his car, and also because of the threatening weather that casts shadows on them. Lazarus follows them, his ears pointing in front of him, throwing worried looks to the skies from time to time.

“Nah, I'd rather keep this one.” He answers, trying to focus on his steps rather than the month he just endured.

 

“Why?” Castiel asks, frowning, looking quite odd with one wing folded neatly against his side while the other is half open behind him, shaking under the wind. His own black leather jacket shines under the pale sun.

 

Dean swallows down. “It was the only thing I had when you left.” He whispers in one breath.

 

Castiel turns to him, slowing his steps down. He gives him a look full of hurt and guilt. “Dean, I'm sorry. I know-”

 

Dean does not let him speak. His hand finds the angel's and he ties his fingers to his, making his soul fly around their arms, rise above them before it explodes in hundreds of small sparks. He squeezes his hand. “Doesn't matter, OK? Gotta move on now.” He says, holding on that touch he craved for a month, if not more, if not since he is back on Earth.

 

Castiel nods and his free wings curls around Dean as they finally come out of the woods. The sky is strangely brighter in the city, as if the woods were a bubble of darkness they just pierced. Dean still feels the darkness jabbing his skin, its bony fingers diving into his flesh again and again, but he shakes his head, chasing the feeling away.

The Chevrolet is still here, majestic, black, gleaming under the skies. Dean's heart still has this happy jump, to recognize this familiar object, this hint of his childhood, of the joyful times. Castiel's wing has a beat and Dean turns to him.

 

“Is this the car you talked about?” The angel asks, his fingers brushing with carefulness on the shiny surface, leaving trails of silver in the air behind them. Dean opens the door and sits behind the wheel as Castiel sits by his side, already feeling incredibly appeased by the soft scent of leather and forest inside.

 

“Yes, it is. I took it back when Sam came back.” He gives the car a gentle pat. Their dog is on the backseat, but his head rests on their own seat, and he barks to get Dean's attention, as if he was jealous of this beast growling louder than him. The demon gives him a little caress on his head before he turns back to Castiel. It is such a strange thing to see him here, him the being with crow wings, with galaxies turning lazily in his eyes, the source of all his joy and pain in the span of a few months. His new life sitting in his old one. Sweet, sweet anachronism. “It belonged to my dad.” Dean adds.

 

Castiel gives a look around, as Dean starts the car that sings under him, rock tunes playing softly. “Your father had a great taste. It's beautiful.” Castiel says and Dean gives him a surprised look.

 

“When I thought I couldn't love you more, you say that.” He simply says, with honesty, because it is the Truth, the simple one, the softest one, the one screamed by his heart.

 

Castiel's own stops and his shock is probably painted all across his face and wings, for Dean gives him a worried look. He glances at the road from time to time, checks the black ribbon uncoiling in front of him, but he is trusting his dark horse, he trusts the Impala roaring in his ears. He would rather focus on the angel staring at him with eyes open wide. “What did I say?” Dean asks, and he frowns at Cas' astonishment. “You don't believe me?”

 

“No, I believe you. It's just…strange.” Castiel answers softly.

 

“You're not the one dating an angel.” Dean says with a laugh, realizing how odd the sentence is, how he never thought he could say it one day.

 

Castiel has a thin smile and looks by the window. “Poor example of one.” He murmurs.

 

Dean sighs silently. He realizes now, what people has been saying. That when you find the right person, nothing else matters. That no matter your own pain, the other's will always be your priority. He always thought it was some fragile ones driven by an emotion they thought was love, that they were blinded by the foolish beats of their own hearts. But now he understands, clearly. No matter what he has lived himself, he cannot imagine the great pain Castiel must have endured all these years. Being cast out of Heaven, being alone on Earth, knowing all your family only feels disgust when thinking of you, and realizing the only person that mattered is a stranger now.

Once again, he reaches out to him and puts his hand on his, pressing it gently. “Still looking like one. Believe me.” He says and when Castiel turns to look at him, he gives him a knowing wink, causing a little laugh clear as bells from the angel.

 

They finally arrive to Sam's place and Dean parks next to the pale golden car. They come out of the warm passenger compartment and are immediately struck by the cold wind that seems to have worsened since they left the house. Dean starts walking to the house, letting a ribbon of soul fly before him, searching for a breathing, a blink of an eye. It is still pretty early in the morning, and he does not want to wake his brother. The night before feels like a dream, like it was centuries ago, in another life and he has hard time remembering what happened before the Hunters. As he starts to think he should have called before coming, the edges of his soul stumble on another one, brown and gold, surrounded by two other, bright and nearly alien. His heart jumps in his chest and he starts walking faster, followed by Castiel and Lazarus, who smells the air as if a storm was coming, as if the scent of Chaos was burning his lungs.

 

Dean arrives and climbs the small wooden stairs heading to the patio. Sam is sitting at the table, his head buried in his hands, strands of hair framing it. Lucifer, who looks barely tired, is staring into space, visibly bored. His wings look strangely clean and pure in the morning light and Dean would swear there are new, long feathers hanging from the bones. Charlie is talking to Sam, her short red head moving as her wings beat on her back.

“I'm telling you I heard a car! Just come! Maybe it's Dean!” She says, her small hands moving in the air. “Or better, Eileen!”

 

“What if he is never coming back?” Sam asks, and Dean notices he is shaking slightly, his features hidden in his pale hands. “Lucifer told me these Hunters could have killed him!” He shouts.

 

Dean steps away from the shadows. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm very much alive.” He says and the three silhouettes raise their heads in one motion.

 

Sam gets up suddenly, making the plastic chair fall loudly behind him. He stands there, frozen, his eyes wide open as he stares at his brother, mouth open of surprise. “Dean? Is that you?”

 

“Who do you think it is?” Dean says with a falsely exasperated pout, but inside, his heart is getting warm to see his brother again, this night feeling like a century, a whole sea between them.

 

Before he can think, Sam is pulling him into a tight hug, crushing his bones under the embrace. Dean pats his back gently, barely breathing. “Glad to see you too.” He says, and when Sam steps back, Dean can see the heavy dark circles under his eyes, his skin as white as snow, the worry mixed with relief in his soul. Knowing his brother, he probably did not sleep at all.

Dean remembers that one time where he had a fight with his father and he slammed the door, took the car and drove away all night, blood boiling inside. When he came back, the morning was not even there but Sam was. Frail, shaking of cold, blowing in his hands to get some warmth. He was sitting on the steps, one of Dean's leather jackets on his shoulders, staring at the horizon desperately. When Dean parked the car, he jumped on his feet and ran to him, not even holding back his tears. Dean will remember his words forever. _“I thought you were gone forever.”_ To what Dean answered _“Never.”_

 

Sam moves and Charlie walks to the demon, smiling widely. “I thought you were dead!” She exclaims, before she wraps her frail arms around his chest. Her little cinnamon wings curl around them, the tip of them barely touching Dean's back. He smiles and holds her in return, his tall silhouette completely surrounding her. She moves back and punches him in the shoulder, with enough of her gentle angelic strength to make him step back. “I was worried about you!” She adds.

 

Lucifer shrugs behind her and raises his glass of anything but water. “Glad to see you made it. Thought they would have this pretty face of yours.” He says.

 

Lazarus hurtles suddenly on the patio, his little sharp claws clinging on the floor. Dean's eyes follow the dog as he jumps on Charlie, who sits on the ground to play with him under Lucifer's look, who then rolls his eyes dramatically. Dean smiles. “Well, you'll need more than a few bullets to kill me.” He says, his head turning to the shadows of the morning. “Besides, I wasn't alone.” He adds, smiling at the darkness.

 

Castiel enters the place slowly, almost shyly. The light comes along with him, beings of blinding rays of sun walking side by side with him. He steps onto the stage, he is illuminated, beautiful and surrounded by power and grace. The sun shines on his head, turning into a silver halo on his black hair, black as night, as shiny oil, as the road, as onyx. His eyes are bright blue in the cold air, oceans, seas, lakes, ponds swirling together, merging into bottomless fields of clear lights. Dean catches himself staring at Castiel with an intensity that could set the woods on fire. Heat rises to his cheeks and he steps back, letting the celestial being coming in to the light, watching him from the shadows.

“Castiel?” Charlie whispers and the second after she is in his arms, clear pearls rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes are wide open against his chest and Dean sees her look falling on Castiel's broken wing nearly hanging on the dust. The dark haired angel puts his chin on the top of her head, his arms are wrapped around her shoulders as he gives a small nod to Lucifer, who does the same.

 

Finally, Castiel steps back and smiles softly to Charlie, who wipes her tears away. “I'm glad you're back.” She says and it strikes some chords in Castiel's heart. He gives her a surprised look and his soul screams _Warmth Roof Wings Arms Laughs Fights Smiles Fire Ice Embrace_ _ **Family**_ _._

 

They start talking all together in a joyful mess and Dean passes an arm behind Castiel's back, ending up hip to hip. The angel turns to him and his eyes burn bright of a devouring emotion and oh Dean feels like sinking, and the angel makes his boat capsize into deep bright waters. Right now, he wants to take him back into his arms and fall on the bed, breathing into him.

Lazarus' ears turned to the front yard and he tilts his head on his side, before he starts moving his tail happily. Dean does not pay attention, too busy enjoying the smile of his brother and the heat of Castiel by his side, devouring him all, and he feels like melting.

 

The spell is broken when there is a throat clearing behind them. They all freeze and turn in the same motion. Sam with his red cheeks, Dean with his dreamy eyes, Lucifer, Charlie and Castiel with their wings floating like great flags behind them.

 

Eileen stares at them, not bothered in any way. “Well, I think we should talk.” She says before her wings spurt out behind her.

 

**X**

 

They stare at her, speechless, mouths wide open under the electricity of shock. They stand still, frozen, eyes fixed on her. Her black coat flaps around her, as her gentle dark eyes smile at them.

 

She made her wings appear in a second, in the blink of an eye, just like Castiel did the first night Dean met him. A second she was perfectly human, the other she was not. In a second she turned into a terrifying weapon coming from the skies. The small woman walking under Sam's affectionate look became a creature from another universe, made of stars and wind, fighting with a silver blade, light illuminating her fists to smite the sinners.

Exploding from her back, there are short pale wings splattered of hundreds of shades of gray, from the light one that reminds Dean of cloudy mornings, to dots of pure black. When the three other angels have wide, sharp feathers, hers have round edges, rather looking like bird wings. Even Charlie's seem immense next to hers. They start just around her face, the curves framing it with darkness, and the largest feathers fall just under her waist, ending as the purest white.

 

There is still something strange. Dean gives a look around. The angels' auras are pulsing around them, like elastics pulled to infinity before they snap back to them, and the motion is repeated forever. Dean knows her soul is not affected by the noises around, the way a voice or a breathing change, but it is so calm, so human, like a lazy sun shining behind her. And at the same time, there is this odd light, this spicy taste on Dean's tongue when he looks at her, leaving him shaking and confused. Definitely not human.

“You're- you're an angel!” Sam blurts, his clear eyes traveling from her face to her wings, and back again on her features, to fall back on her feathers.

 

“Impossible.” Lucifer says, staring at her with haunted eyes. “It can't be.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Dean says, frowning, before he turns to Castiel for more explanations. But this one is staring at her deeply, his wings folded tight against him, a gleam in his eyes.

 

“Only half of it.” He whispers and the brothers' heads turn to him.

 

“What?” Sam screams in a whisper.

 

Eileen sighs and her eyes do not leave Castiel, whose grace started to flow towards her. The tip of a ribbon touches her soft aura and there is a soft blow of blue in her orange and yellow. Just like when angels' souls touch each other.

“He's right.” She says, and there is a soft accent in her voice, but Dean could not name it. She walks to Sam and Dean expects him to step back, the light of betrayal and hatred in his eyes, but his brother does not move. Except for the surprise painted across his face, nothing changed in him. _He still loves her._ Dean thinks and an acid guilt stabs his heart when he remembers how he treated Castiel when this one showed him his true form. Eileen blinks and her eyes show the purest affection. “I'm only half an angel. My father was one.”

 

Charlie blinks and walks to stand next to her. One of her soft brown wing touches Eileen's gray one and the woman turns to her, watching their feathers laced together. “I thought it was forbidden.” Charlie whispers, turning to Castiel.

 

“It is.” He says, and his eyes turn for a second to Dean. “The second the angels knew your father loved a human, they banished him, right?” He asks gently, sharing the pain of another fallen angel.

 

She nods, and her irises flash of memories. “But where he is now?” Dean suddenly says, and she turns to him, her dark eyes on him.

 

She takes a deep breath “He hid it for a very long time and came to see my mother and I for a while. It was a secret and he wouldn't stay for too long. But one day, he came home – I was about ten year old – and said he was going to live with us everyday now. He was smiling at me but the same night, I was awoken by his screams. When I opened the door of their room-” She stops for a moment, and Dean can see all these years did not ease the pain. “I saw my mother trying to help him, trying to nurse him the best she could. She- she was removing glass from his back and his wings-” She shivers, and her reaction seems to spread around, for the three angels shudder and Castiel grips Dean's arm, knowing what is coming. Eileen looks at them, rage and pain swirling in her eyes, even if her voice is still cold and calm. “They ripped them off. My mother was cutting what's left of his wings and there was blood everywhere. He was crying and she was telling him he should have left. But he would never had abandon us.”

 

She stops and Sam walks to her, puts a hand on her shoulder, his long fingers on her thin back. Her wings have a slow beat and in a way that is so familiar to Dean, one of them stretches to pass behind Sam, enfolding him in a heavenly embrace. He helps her walking to the table, and they all sit around her, hypnotized by her wicked words.

 

“After this, we started living a normal life. He was not completely human, but weakened enough to act like one. The first months, we would find him asleep at any hour, like all his strength was gone. But he was getting used to it, and during years, we lived like anyone else. Both him and my mother thought they were done with Heaven. Until I turn eighteen.” She stops, bites her lips, and Sam rubs her back in small circles, his aura all pushed to her. “Nephilims only turn into their true form at this moment. That means all the angels can see them too. We celebrated my birthday, and I was falling asleep when I heard a noise in the field around my house. I ran downstairs and I saw **them**.” Dean feels Castiel shaking next to him, and he knows all this violence coming from his brothers must remind him of something he already lived himself. “There were three angels and without even blinking, they killed him. My mother told me to run and I was too scared to do anything else. I was running away from my home when they made it explode. My mother didn't make it, and since then, I cannot hear anything.” She says as she shrugs sadly.

 

She exhales deeply and puts her calm abysses of eyes on them. “They chased me for days, but I learned protection spells from my father. Since then, they cannot find me.” She says, before turning to the angels. “This is why you didn't see me as I am.” She turns back to Sam. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” She whispers and he presses her hand gently in his own.

 

“No, I understand.” He answers.

 

She gives him a smile, and her attention is drawn back on the angels. “When my father died, I wanted to kill them all. The angels.” She says, and Lucifer clenches his jaw. “I met all of you, and I was ready to do it. But when I saw you protected Sam, and that he was happy with you, I just couldn't.” She adds, and the flame burning in her eyes makes Dean's heart have a little sigh. He could not have imagined that his brother would find love so easily. But he is glad, now he knows someone is here to watch over him.

 

“I'm sorry.” Charlie suddenly says, putting her hand on Eileen's. “I didn't know about this.”

 

“It's normal.” Castiel says, his voice as low and calm as the sea. “There was a time Nephilims were hunted. Angels thought they were… monsters. Until now, I didn't know they still existed.”

 

Charlie blinks, touches Eileen with the tip of her brown wing. “So, do you have the same abilities as us?” She asks.

 

Eileen smiles to her. “Mostly. I can recognize angels just by seeing them, and I can see souls. And of course the wings, even if I can't fly.” She says, raising them a little above her. “But otherwise, I'm human. No healing, no powers.” Her smile fades a little and her look becomes serious. “There's another thing. I spent some time with the Hunters.”

 

Dean's whole body freezes. “What?!” He shouts, and Castiel holds him back, forcing him to sit again.

 

Eileen's eyes apologize for her. “When I was left alone, they found me and they cared about me. That's all I wanted. But when they started tracking a demon, and became obsessed with it, I left them. It was years ago.” Her eyes fall on Dean, who softens. “I suppose it was you, right?” She asks and Dean holds her look without blinking.

 

Sam frowns and turns to him. “They hunted you down? Why?” He asks but Dean brushes his question off.

 

“Doesn't matter.” He says, before getting up. “I don't know about you, but I'm starving! Who's ready for breakfast?”

 

Charlies claps her hands happily and Castiel starts following him back to the car when Eileen stops with with a gentle touch of her wing on his.

“You're hurt.” She murmurs, observing the wounded curve, the broken bone. Castiel lets her land her fingers on the feathers, estimate the damages. “I think I can help you.”

 

Dean stops and comes back. “Really?” He asks, raising an eyebrow while Castiel's eyes brighten of hope.

 

“Yes. My father told me a lot about angels and before he fell, I helped him a lot when his wings were hurt after a battle. I could totally help you with this.” She says, wide smile on her face.

 

Castiel nods and gives her the same bright smile in return. “Thank you.” He says and she wraps her arm around his, already dragging him inside. Dean winks at him and his fingers linger on the angel's.

 

He already knows where is going, he remembers the sweet shop selling warm donuts. He smiles and starts walking to the car.

His heart shines like a beacon in the night of his chest. His brother is safe, he is loved by someone who is honest with him, someone who will protect him at any cost. Charlie, and even Lucifer find their place among them. And he has Castiel back. He can still feel his warmth by his side, soothing, singing, wonderful. He smiles, alone in the woods, grinning at the strangeness of life.

 

He is about to open the car when there is a soft whistle behind him. Lazarus, who followed him, turns suddenly to the forest, ears pointing at the trees and he starts growling dully. His whole body is shaking, the hairs standing on end. His eyes are full of a strange malaise, a fear coming from nowhere.

Dean turns around and puts his hand on Lazarus' head, and the dog is still shuddering under his palm, his growl turning slowly into noises tainted of fear. Dean frowns. “What's wrong, hm?” He asks and suddenly, the dog crawls behind him, lies low in the soil.

 

Dean looks around and the pines are pushed by a strong and cold wind that was not there before. The trees scream under the caress, sound of bones breaking surrounding them. The sky darkens, with threatening black clouds and a thin drizzle starts to fall. Dean has to blink to chase the small drops falling on his eyes, and thunder rolls right above him. He flinches and glances at the sky. Lightning strikes and he would swear it crashes right next to him, silver sharp tear piercing the thick coat above him. He frowns and lowers his head.

 

 _Blink._ Between cold drops falling, the time seems to stop, the water floats for a moment in the air before crashing on the mud. Lazarus comes closer, reduced to the small scared dog he once was. He crawls in the dirt, his ears flattened on his head.

 

 _Blink._ There is a second picture on Dean's vision. The woods are covered by a red and blue filter, a negative put on his eyes. The trees are now twisted, like hands coming out of the Earth, trying to catch him. Creatures walk slowly to him, but he can only see their red glowing eyes looking at him, their teeth of crystal, the way the tall grass moves around them like waves. The wind screams into his ears and he starts to feel the blood dripping on his neck. He winces of pain. The car is covered by flames, the leather crackles, the black gloss melts on the ground like a strange pond, the windows break. It is not rain falling down on him, it is thick, warm blood burning his skin. He tries to step back but he cannot move. He is standing in a land of despair, the trees turns to ashes pushed by the hot wind, the dust covers the ground and he can barely breathes, he inhales fire.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

 _Blink._ His heart stops of fear. His body freezes, unable to follow his mind that is racing to the speed of stars spinning around him. She is standing right here, smiling with all her blinding teeth, her eyes looking into his soul. Her dress of shadows brushes the ground, burns the Earth with every step she takes.

 

 _Blink._ The world is on fire around him, and the darkness spins around her.

 

She snaps her fingers.

Blackness swallows him. He screams as the Void is taking him whole, the fire consuming his skin, his bones, eating him alive, sipping his blood like liquor with lips of lust.

 

The wind blows, cold. The pines shiver. Inside the house, laughs resonate and none of them noticed the Chaos outside.

 

Lazarus opens his eyes. He looks around. He is still shivering. His heart starts pumping again, loud in his ears. He runs to the house, as fast as his terrified paws can. He must tell them. He must tell the creatures of light.

 

**The night is falling.**

 


	10. Morphogenesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morphogenesis (from the Greek morphê (shape) and genesis (creation), literally, "beginning of the shape") is the biological process that causes an organism to develop its shape.

 

The Void spits him out and he is now sitting on a fresh seat made of bright red leather. He blinks and looks around, completely lost, hardly breathing.

Black and white tiles, long pastel bar, neon lights. His eyes travel on the room, and the warmth of the place surrounds him, making him suffocate. There is too much noise around, the people talking, the plates put down loudly, the coffee maker spurting its poison. Even the wind hits the walls, shaking him like a doll, his little house of paper taken in the storm.

 

His heart starts to beat furiously behind his ribs, cold sweat covers his back, his skin itches and he wants to rip it in one motion, leave this coat of suffering behind to let his soul run free. His blood is getting too hot in his veins, it boils, sings inside them. His breaths are short and rapid, and his chest is too heavy, it hurts. His vision is blurry, shaking, his brain is taken by steel hands. He does not want to be here. He does not know these people. He wants to escape.

 

He tries to get up but a voice stops him. “Dean.” It says.

 

His name is said by a woman, the letters cracking like a whip on her tongue as if she was tasting this new savor, this exotic little song, this joyful melody praising whiskey and long car drives, this hot bullet coming from her lungs. He turns to her, and the world seems to stop. Everything is cold, slow around him as if the snow was falling and covering the ground, and it is so silent it becomes oppressive. It is too calm, it is a graveyard for souls, an endless winter where sins fly like birds. That is it, he is a little being trapped in a snow globe, and this voice shakes him, like a cruel children observing the toy break at his feet.

The woman looks at him calmly, her hard stones of eyes fixed on him, two knives pointed at him on the other side of the table, facing him like Death. Her features are sharp, like carved into marble, shadows dancing in her hollow cheeks. Long curls falls around her face, dark snakes on her shoulders.

 

He blinks. “Who are you?” He blurts. There is now a too cold air around them, and the music has been slowed down. The jukebox spits a dreadful melody, as if the dead were singing for him, their mouths full of soil and moss.

 

“My name is Amara.” She says with the same monotonous tone, but Dean notices the way she looks at him. Fascinated, as if he was the most beautiful butterfly on the field, the one she was going to catch in her hands before pinning him up behind a pretty frame above her bed.

 

“Where are we?” He asks and nothing else wants to come out of his mouth. The woman's eyes are swallowing him whole like dark waters.

 

“In town. It's a nice place, don't you think?” She asks, still staring at him. Her nails painted in black play on the table, catchy little song that is driving Dean crazy.

 

Before he can ask anything, the waitress arrives to their table, carrying a hot pink aura. “Good morning! Have you chosen yet?” She says and she raises her head from her notebook. Her eyes open a little wider when she sees Dean, and he recognizes the woman who sold them Lazarus. “Oh, hello back darling! Is my baby alright?” She glances around, before her look falls on Amara. She has a little frown. “Where is your adorable friend? Did something happen between you two? I'd be devastated!”

 

Dean would have smile in another circumstances. But Amara's eyes darken and she turns to the sweet lady. “It would be a dark coffee for me.” She snaps, the viper spiting her venom.

 

The woman's smile freezes. “Alright.” She writes it down and turns again to Dean. “What about you, darling?” She says, her brown eyes still tender.

 

“Nothing, thank you.” He answers. “And don't worry, both of them are fine.” He adds with a thin smile.

 

She nods and puts her hand on his shoulder, pressing it gently with a glimpse of worry in her eyes, as if she had understood there was nothing friendly between him and this dark stranger with killer eyes.

 

Once she is gone, he looks back at the creature. “What do you want? Because we're not here to talk coffee, right?” He says, and he grips the table to control the wrath rising in him. “Why did you have Sam?”

 

“It's simple.” She says, frowning slightly, as if the answer was obvious. “I need you.”

 

It is Dean's turn to be confused. “For what?”

 

The waitress puts the coffee down and disappears in a second, at the speed of sound. It is like the woman is playing with time, slowing it down when she wants, or making things come and go just for her own pleasure. Her hands frame the little white cup and she dives into Dean's eyes.

“See, I have been caged for a very long time. The one who did it made sure I would never see the light again. But faith is starting to fade slowly. People are tired of seeing their loved ones die, their children suffering, the world going down in flames. Why would they pray to someone who inflicts such a pain? With no more little slaves behind him, he is starting to get weaker and his hold on me disappeared. In some way, he set me free. Now I have to make him pay for what he has done. Do you understand?” She says in a breath.

 

Dean stares at her. “No, I don't. Could you just get to the point?” He snaps, annoyed.

 

Her lips twitch, anger deforming her features, but she still smiles to him. “I wandered on Earth for a long time, trying to reach him. I prayed to him, but I never heard an answer. So I destroyed his precious creation, his useless, pathetic children.” She says, spitting these last words with contempt. “I needed someone by my side, that could get me to him, that would help me killing him.” She adds, her soul pulsing black behind her. “And you're the perfect one.” She whispers in his ear, and he shudders.

 

“I don't understand.” He says, his body tense, his knuckles turning white as he presses his hands on his knees. He lowers his head and looks at this woman, his jaw clenched, his muscles ready to jump. More than everything, he wishes the hot weight of his blade was hanging on his waist. All his being wants to run away, to reach that door of glass and dive into the woods, like a panic-stricken bird, beating his wings as far as he can. But he is stuck in an arctic bubble, brushed by a wind of voices, whispering horrors to his ears and his mind goes black under the woman's eyes.

 

_Woods flashing red illuminated by Hell, blood flowing like a river among the trees, ablaze skies ripped apart by rain of tears, bones coming out of flesh, bruised palms and knees, SCREAMS, the white of wide open eyes, his hands sinking into chests and stomachs to rip organs off before he bites into them, his teeth diving into sticky, juicy meat. He finishes them in one voracious bite, he wants more, he will always be hungry so he jumps on another sheep, SCREAMS BLOOD SCREAMS, stop screaming sheep this is the natural order of things I am the Great Bringer of Death, remember? I decide which one of you is gonna die and I want you, you are special, you are soft please let me taste your skin. Why do you scream? Let me swallow you whole like a sweet candy, let me feel you melting on my tongue of fire. He tries to reach for the heart but the bones are stronger, they stand like steel angels in front of his hands he screams and dives his blade stabs the sheep again and again until he can finally take the beating sun in his hands oh how beautiful it is._

_He holds it against his chest like a child, whispering lullabies to him oh child don't be afraid I'm here you're going to be a part of me beating in my chest like a bird singing to me every morning. See I swallow you and now you're with me forever let's run the woods and howl at the red moon rising. EYES TURNING BLACK HOT BREATHS IN THE NIGHT. I'm painting these words of blood on my skin and now you see I'm nothing human I'm nothing like you I'm beyond I'm incredible. He turns and sees the Darkness smiling at him and Her hands slip in his own, their fingers are laced like soft ribbons of Chaos. Their pale naked bodies shine like diamonds and her arms are wrapped around his waist she holds him like a trophy she leans to him her lips of poison coming closer and-_

 

“No!” Dean shouts, slamming his fists on the table, shaking. He raises his eyes to her. “What are you doing?!”

 

She takes a sip of her beverage, puts it down gently, her long fingers fluttering around her like butterflies of ice. The restaurant is still trapped in thick glue, with slow moves and heavy air. She stares at him and an amused curve appears on her lips. “Nothing. This is all coming from you, Dean.”

 

Again, his name violated on this tongue of snakes and storms. “You're lying.” He growls.

 

She has a compassionate look. “No, Dean.” He shivers, winces of disgust. “I'm right and you know it.” She raises suddenly her arm and her hand lands on his cheek. He flinches, freezes. “This is all you ever wanted. Being free, being the one you always wanted to be. You're tired of hiding, don't you?” She whispers, eyes full of pity.

 

“You don't know what I want.” Dean snaps. He wants to move this hand away from his face, it is cold as winter, rotten, disgusting, dreadful. And at the same time, all his dark soul is pushed to this stranger, and all he sees is her. All the room is blurry and dull and she appears like a Saint in his vision, pale and light, smiling and reaching out to him. Her own darkness swirls and pierces his own and, oh the traitor! It explodes, laughs, this is the end of its loneliness. It finally found another like it, a companion to its twisted games. Dean tries to take it back but his own soul shows its teeth at him before it turns back again and chase Amara's, black wolves running after each other in the snow coming from the spots above them.

 

“That's where you're wrong. I know exactly.” She says, her hand brushing against his cheek, his neck, caressing the short hair behind his ear. “All these visions of death and destruction, they are your darkest desire.”

 

“No.” He says, finally moving, her cold hand falling back on her side. “That's not who I am. Not anymore.”

 

She has a little, cruel laugh. “Oh, really?” She dives a finger in the coffee, stirs the hot liquid that crashes into waves against the white inside. “What if I told you all your… happiness is coming from me?”

 

He raises an eyebrow but dread grows inside him. “What are you talking about?”

 

She stops her move, wipes the coffee out of her finger on her napkin. She sits right, puts her hands on the table, her shoulders tense, her chin held high. She looks like a robot. Or a queen on her throne. Something in her bothers Dean, the way she controls her every move, as if the smallest mistake could make the world blow up.

“When I found you, I immediately saw the darkness in you. It was incredible, beautiful. But it was asleep somewhere deep inside you, it was inoffensive. It was useless.” She has a vague gesture in the air. “I didn't know why I was drawn to you, and I started to walk away. But then I saw it.”

 

Her butterfly hand flies to the strap of her dress and she moves it a little, just enough for Dean to see the sharp, swollen mark on her chest. Red, glowing, just like his. His breathing stops. Amara smiles.

“You're one of my kind, Dean.” When she sees the confusion circling in his already frightened eyes, she takes a deep breath. “In the beginning, after Adam and Eve were cast out of Heaven for their sins, life was peaceful on Earth, as they lived with their two children, Cain and Abel. It could have stayed this way, but the Universe cannot be like this. Where there is light, there is darkness. It's a simple rule. That's when I appeared, on my own. I was there to keep this rule as it was.” Her eyes glimmer of an evil light. “One night, I saw Cain sitting alone in the woods. I felt his loneliness, his despair and his need of someone who could share his life. He welcomed me with open arms.” The curve of her lips disappear, and her look darkens. “But things changed. God created new beings and they started proliferating like a disease. One day, Cain came and said he found someone new, someone that wasn't pushing him to the darkness. He left me.”

 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You turned into a monster because he broke your heart?” He has a laugh. “Adorable.”

 

Amara's soul blows on him and his words get stuck inside his throat. “You don't understand. He was keeping light inside me, he was keeping a balance. When he left, all the hatred, all the rage I felt were set free. I had to get my revenge, I had to show him his choice would cost his life. His children and their children, all the ones who dared to share his blood would succumb to the darkness. This cursed line spread and they shared the Mark with humans, diluted it with impure flesh. That's where new species were created.”

 

“Demons.” Dean says in a breath.

 

Amara smiles. “Exactly. The Mark faded away and only a few of them carried it. They were the most powerful.” Her soul trembles of anger. “Unfortunately, God decided I was causing too much suffering on Earth. He sent his greatest angels and he locked me up, like an animal.” She spits her acid words. “I begged him to forgive me, I told him that I could fix my mistakes, but he didn't listen. He left, and abandoned me to my fate. Because that's what he do. When Lucifer disobeyed, he cast him out of Heaven. And when your precious angel fell in love with you, didn't he do the same?” She tilts her head, sounding the depths of his soul.

 

He clenches his fists but does not say anything. She takes her cup in her hands. “He should have accepted. Only I could erase the Mark from his pets. Now, people like you run the Earth and kill in cold blood, and he cannot do anything about it.” She says, clicking her tongue with disapproval. “Now, I'm free and I'm coming for him.”

 

Dean shakes his head, runs his fingers in his hair. “That doesn't explain why you're so interested in me.” He says, ill-at-ease, the discussion feeling like a foggy dream, a wide plain of ghosts and mist. His frail mind is lost and he has hard time following her words.

 

“Right.” She says, and the air grows colder around her. “I needed to free this darkness from you. I never saw such a strength in someone else, but like this, you couldn't help me. I had to make this evil light in you snap.” She shrugs. “So I killed your family.”

 

Dean freezes. All his body melts into a silver swarming shiny puddle. His tongue is dry and heavy, his mind hot and damp like a jungle full of screams. “What?” He whispers, breathless.

 

“You heard me.” She says, her wells of darkness diving into his eyes. His soul crawls in the corner, hides behind his bones. “I needed to destroy this joy, this light burning inside you. And when I saw how important your family was to you, I decided they had to disappear.” Dean stares at her without a word, so she keeps going. “But I had to think about the future. You cannot fight without a reason. If I asked for your help when you couldn't think right, you could have destroyed me. And that's not what I wanted, of course.” She says with a smile. “You wouldn't fight for me if you didn't have to. So I kept your brother with me, I took care of him. I let you miss him days after days, years after years. I watched the darkness grow inside you, become more and more important to the point you couldn't live without it. And then I gave him back to you.”

 

Tears started rolling down Dean's cheeks but he does not have the strength to wipe them. His life has been a lie. Someone killed his whole family just for their pleasure, used him like a tool. And she is standing right in front of him.

She tilts her head with an amused smile. “Did you really think I let you take your brother? That you and your angel pets really saved him?” She laughs. “Please, I heard you coming from miles! I just watched hope and pride shine inside you and I knew everything was going the way I wanted.”

 

She stops, this awful smile still covering her lips. Dean stares at her without a word and all his bones are tense like arrows and he wishes he could shoot them at her, break her perfect skull with knives and blades and swords and turn her into a gruesome puddle of blood and darkness.

She takes a sip of her coffee and continues. “Now, you cannot think of losing your brother again. And like it wasn't enough, you found yourself a new family. Maybe God is with me, after all.” She has a sadistic smile. “You can't lose them. The redhead that follows you like a dog? Or maybe the half-pint of an angel that watches over your brother?” Her eyes turn into a living fire of madness. “Or maybe this angel lover of yours? He did so much for you and I know you wouldn't risk his life. That would be too bad if you had to lose him again...”

 

Dean clenches his jaw. “What do you want from me?” He says, controlling the anger in his voice.

 

“I just want you to help me getting my revenge. Your darkness with mine, destroying the one who kept me in cage. That's all I ask for.” She says, as if she was not asking him to pick the moon for her.

 

“And who is it?” Dean asks, voice shaking.

 

“God, of course.” Amara answers, calm as a summer breeze.

 

He blinks. “God?!” He repeats. “You're asking me to kill God himself?” He says and if his whole body was not as tense as a bow, he would laugh until he cries. He is dreaming, he has to, otherwise he is losing his mind.

 

“Not in the beginning. You and I, we would just draw his attention and when he will be distracted, then yes. We will destroy him.”

 

“No, impossible. First of all, I don't believe in God.” He snaps, his mind boiling.

 

“He exists.” Amara says calmly. “He is cruel and merciless. But he is there and he created all things. Where do you think your angelic lover is from? God made him pieces by pieces, making the perfect soldier, the perfect machine to follow his orders. He spent centuries killing your kind, just because his Father told him to.” She smiles, beaming of pride. “Now, do you see how monstrous these creatures are, how he lied to you everytime? Are you ready to leave him?”

 

“Never.” Dean answers, cold as stone, steel, sea.

 

Amara frowns. “Why?” She asks “He is evil. He wants nothing but to destroy you. It's his mission. It's what he has been taught all his life. Don't you realize you're in danger if you stay with him?”

 

“This is sick.” Dean snaps and he pushes her aura from him. He gets up suddenly. All his body trembles of wrath and his mind flies to Castiel, sending desperate prayers to him, calling him for help. He clenches his fists and starts to walk to the exit when Amara's voice hits him with the strength of a thousand hurricanes.

 

“DEAN.” She says and she does not need to scream. Her voice is as cold as the Arctic Sea. “Sit down.”

 

He turns against his will but does not take his place back on the leather seat. He stands in front of her, his shadow weighing down on her. He may act like he is in control, but right now, she is the one keeping him on a leash.

“I don't think you understand.” She says, clenching her jaw of ice. “You don't have a choice.” All her hypocritical warmth went away and she stares at him with a terrifying hardness in her look.

 

“What happens if I don't accept?” He growls under his breath, shaking.

 

She suddenly raises a hand, snaps her fingers. Nothing moves, nothing explodes. There is just a thud, the air barely whispers. He gives an intrigued look around. And his blood freezes. Horror takes his heart in claws.

 

The restaurant turned into a graveyard, fresh soil sparkling on the ground. The customers observe the scene with their wide open eyes, eyes that will never blink again, empty orbits of dust and soil. Their backbones are broken in tiny pieces, brushed by the wind blowing outside, their skulls are crushed under the spell, pretty dirty porcelain. Their brains are swarming like foul broths into their plates, blood blood blood flowing like thick fetid rivers. Some faces are still smiling, gentle dolls of flesh facing him, always polite even in Death, must not show the pain, must pretend everything is fine. Some are still holding a glass, a coffee, a hand, cold fingers around cold fingers. The woman who gave them Lazarus, so gentle and soft, is laying on the floor, clotted blood spreading under her destroyed body, guts breathing the hot air, bubbling happily, already eaten by white worms. Pale children stopped playing, and Dean can see a hand, a shoe, a strand of hair, scattered among this sea of horrors, innocence lost. He can see the souls starting to float above the bodies, swirling in a confused cloud of despair and resignation. The Reaper is on its way, great, terrifying but scared itself by this slaughter that was the matter of just a second.

 

Dean closes his eyes and breathes, trying to chase the butchery form his mind, in vain. He swallows back the acid rising in his throat and turns to Amara, who is staring at him calmly. She gets up and stands in front of him, way too close. Her hot breaths hit Dean like whips of burning steel. “Why are you scared? After all, we are the same...” She says, her voice diving into his skull and he steps back, stumbles on a corpse. He lowers his head to see the woman who once handed him his breakfast and wished him a good day. Cruel irony...

 

“No I'm nothing like you!” He answers, trying to convince himself, but the memories of what he did all these years surface, explode into fires of screams and scattered guts.

 

“If you refuse, I'll kill anyone who ever stood in your way.” She whispers as she lands a hand on his shoulder, leans to murmur in his ear. He stands there like a piece of ice, stone-faced, but his soul screams of agony. _Run, run, destroy her you hear me?! Run run as long as you can escape and run!_ It screams, begging him to leave this cursed place, but his body will not move, it will stand, merciless, dangerous, reckless.

 

Amara looks around. Blood drips from a table, sweet heady melody. Her attention flies back to Dean. “Starting with the celestial pets. I'll rip their wings feather by feather.” Her eyes widen. “And then, I'll make you choose. First, your dearest brother or your lover?” She smiles, pure cruelty in her irises and she suddenly grips his collar, draws him to her, her face made of ice just a few inches away from his. He winces and tries to move away but her hold is incredibly strong. One of her fingers wanders on his cheek, sharp and cold, before it falls on his lips.

 

She suddenly moves back, steps back, her dress of shadows floating around her silhouette. “You have until midnight to make your decision. Don't try to hide.” Her dark eyes look at him one last time and his whole being shakes of fear and rage. “I'll always know where you are.” She says, before she disappears into a flash of black light, a flight of crows and monsters, a storm of dust and destruction.

 

He finally breathes, here in this ocean of blood. The corpses are still looking at him, entrails singing their Hallelujah, compassion filling their dead hearts. When even the dead pities you, you know there is no escape.

 

Worries are coming and even his blade and soul cannot fight them.

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

 

Dean finally reaches home, an hour later, lips and hands turning blue, his body shaking of cold. As if the threatening weather was not enough, the temperature dropped suddenly, and a thick snow started to fall. It began slowly, just a few snowflakes here and there, mottling the gray skies of white, and it looked like Eileen's wings. It was so peaceful, so calm, the air barely moving around his steps, blowing in his hair and ears. It was like the world was taken in a soft, transparent jelly, and he could almost feel the Earth turning, the Universe shinning around him, the stars exploding far away from him. He even stopped for a moment, observing the skies crying frozen tears and his breath was taken by the show, thin glimmering creatures dancing in front of his eyes.

 

But it was too good to continue. Soon, the breeze turned into a storm raging against this body, the Flood crashing down on him to swallow him whole. He wrapped his arms around his chest to keep the leather close to him, in vain. The cold started to make his limbs sore and numb and he stumbles, feeling his strength going away. The snow keeps falling, merciless, beautiful and his path turns into a glacial Hell. No matter where he looks, it is this wide plain of blinding white, these ice crystals shining in his irises like diamonds falling from Heaven. His teeth chatter and he cannot control the tremors traveling along his body. His mind is empty and he only thinks COLD COLD COLD COLD COLD COLD.

 

He is now lost somewhere in the woods and his steps are getting slower, his breathing thick and heavy, his chest painfully numb as the winter comes into his lungs. He knows these woods, and they always have been his home, this warm bubble he would change for nothing. But now the trees are not friendly anymore, they scratch him with their sharp branches and the pine needles cover the skies, wide dark ceiling. Pain blooms inside him like a dangerous flower full of thorns and he falls on his knees, cursing the sky that spits on him. He has to warn his family, or Amara will not think twice. She will kill them without blinking, her ice cold face staring down on them as the blood will flow freely under their motionless bodies. In some twisted way, she is generous. He has the choice. He can choose to sacrifice himself and protect his family. If he ever makes it out alive of these damn woods.

He gets up, his legs shake under him, but he manages to make a few more steps before he falls again, empty of any strength. He is starting to imagine all the torture and suffering she will inflict to his loved ones if he dies. He winces of pain and is about to stand again when a voice resonates in the empty silent forest.

 

“Dean!” The voice is screaming, but it is so far away and he cannot reach it.

 

The voice is followed by another, softer, echoing like joyful bells. “Castiel, we have to go, he is not here. We'll find him, I promise. But not by freezing to death.” Dean can imagine the warm wings beating in the snow.

 

“I'll not leave without him. And I told you, I _**know**_ he is here!” The dearest voice keeps going, steps echoing in Dean's ears, getting closer every time.

 

“Castiel, wait!” Another voice screams, and this one is human, soft but strong, surrounded by a familiar aura smelling like hot chocolate and warm apples, followed by a strange one, half-bright, half-gloomy, that belongs to a frail woman with spotted wings.

 

The steps are still coming closer. “You can go back if you want, but I won't.” The angel of darkness says and Dean makes his soul fly to him, crash against his bones, scream to him, beg him. The blue grace stops pulsing, its colors change, shift, swirl, undecided, shaping into a question, a hope burning. “I felt something.” The man whispers in a breath.

 

He starts running and when the soul is close enough, Dean has a weak whisper, calling the angel's name. The steps are getting louder, crashing the snow under boots, heart beating fast behind celestial ribs. He screams his name and Dean raises his head, blinks to chase the snow away, discerns a blurry silhouette moving to him. He closes his eyes, as fragile as a frozen lake. Something falls heavy next to the demon and warm hands suddenly frame his face, blue aura surrounds him, fills his lungs, his heart, his ears.

“Dean, Dean can you hear me?!” He blinks and finally sees Castiel looking at him, eyes wide open. “Dean, are you OK?” He whispers and his hands do not leave his head, warming his poor frozen brain again.

 

Dean manages to nod slightly, and the ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “Hey.” He mutters, his voice as thick as the snow under his knees. He gives Castiel a weak smirk, observing the dark hair, the bright blue eyes. “Am I in Heaven?” He says before he starts coughing.

Castiel has a little relieved laugh and takes Dean in his arms, putting his heavy head on his chest, holding him close, giving him heat and comfort. One of his wings is tied to his waist and the curve is wrapped in a soft fabric that smells like plants and honey. The other spreads itself around them and Castiel puts it on Dean's back like a heavenly cover. In a second, Dean starts to feel his limbs again and he grips Castiel's jacket, draws him closer.

 

Soon, Sam and Eileen arrive by his side, followed by Charlie.

“What happened?” Sam asks, frowning, sitting next to him to put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes linger briefly on Dean and Castiel's fingers tied together, the black wing thrown across his brother's body, the way Dean's cheek does not leave Castiel's chest, and they glimmer for a second, before his attention turns back to Dean. “Where have you been?”

 

Charlie cuts him off. “We were so worried! What happened to you?!” She says, her voice higher than usual, and Dean can see the pale fear swirling in her pupils.

 

“There's something strange around you...” Eileen whispers, narrowing her eyes at him.

 

“We'll see later. For now, we have to go home” Castiel says as he helps him getting on his feet. He looks at Dean and sees he is still shivering, despite the aura and the feathers. The angel frowns, before he turns to Charlie. “You'll take him right now.” He says and the demon turns suddenly to him.

 

“What? But-”

 

“I cannot fly.” Castiel says sadly, and one of his hand flutters to caress Dean's hair on the side of his head. “And you need to get warm as soon as possible.”

 

“I'm not leaving you here.” Dean snaps, darkening, before he turns to his brother and the half-angel. “And what about you?!”

 

Sam shrugs. “We'll walk.” He says and Eileen nods, her useless wings falling behind her, jewels, destined to be pretty but not strong. Dean feels sorry for her, for her admirable strength does not show in those celestial limbs.

 

“Don't worry,” Charlie says, turning to him. “Once you're safe, I'll come get them.” She has a little frown and looks at Castiel. “But I can't carry you.” She adds, and Dean turns to his angel, whose free wing beats silently in the snow.

 

“It doesn't matter. I'll be there as fast as I can.” He says calmly.

 

“No! I won't let you here with her out there!” Dean shouts but before he can move, Castiel gives Charlie a little sign and she lands a hand on Dean's shoulder.

 

He is swallowed by a warm whirlpool of light, surrounded by the sound of wings beating the air, and the second after, he is standing in Sam's living room, the warmth immediately embracing him. He stays like this a moment, dizzy, lost before his eyes fall on Charlie, whose small wings curl around her.

“Sorry.” She says and he looks around, realizing he is not in the frozen forest covered of snow anymore. That means Castiel is still out there and he cannot get back right now. His eyes darken and he turns to Charlie.

 

“Bring me back! Now!” He shouts, clenching his fists. “Bring me back or-”

 

His threats are interrupted by a flutter of wings and he stands alone in the house, and his only company is the single dark feather floating in the air, before it lands on the floor silently.

He kicks the couch and screams his anger at the empty space around him. He starts to walk to the door and reaches out to the handle when a slow voice stops his gesture.

 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

 

Dean turns back to see Lucifer leaning against the wooden table. The archangel gives him a questioning look. “Are you trying to get killed? Or are you just incredibly stupid?” He tilts his head and his snake eyes dive into Dean's. He smirks. “Yeah, I would definitely put my money on the second option.”

 

Dean clenches his jaw and keeps himself from jumping on the Devil, who yawns widely. “It's not funny. Now take me to Cas!” He snaps, anger deforming his features.

 

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

 

“He's out there alone and Charlie can't bring him back! Just take me to him. Now!”

 

Lucifer yawns again. “Well, you see I could but-” He raises his broken wings, wings that do not look as broken as before, despite the sharp bones and the tattered feathers hanging from them. “Unfortunately, I can't.” He adds with a little sadistic smile.

 

“You're lying! You did it with Sam when-”

 

Once again, his words are covered by the sound of an angelic breeze. Charlie appears, Sam on one of her side, Eileen on the other. The redhead smiles at Dean, already forgetting his wrath. “See? They're safe now!”

 

“Yeah but Cas is still out there!”

 

“Dean, he'll be fine...” Charlie says, compassion floating purple around her, and he sees the same colors around his brother and his angel girlfriend.

 

“Don't worry, you'll see your darling soon enough!” Lucifer says and Dean turns back, glowering at him, while the Devil laughs and walks by him to sit on the couch. He arranges his wings around him and crosses his legs, smiling widely. “We have to wait so… Story time! Dean you start!” The demon gives him an intrigued look and Lucifer's smile spreads even more. “Why don't you tell your brother what you did while he was playing amnesiac?”

 

Sam frowns and turns to Dean. “What is he talking about?” He asks and his brother freezes, glaring at the smiling archangel, proud of himself for creating Chaos, once again.

 

Dean opens his mouth to answer but Lucifer is faster. “Ooh I see!” He covers his mouth dramatically. “He didn't tell you!” He says, turning to Sam, patting the seat next to him, inviting him.

 

Sam, too intrigued, ignores the dark look his brother gives him and sits next to Lucifer, still letting a generous space between them. Lucifer's smirk explodes on his face. “Remember when you read the newspaper last time? What was the title?” He raises his eyes, searching in his dull memory. “Right! _The Devil Back In His Den?_ ” He gives Dean a falsely angry pout. “I must say, I was jealous! First, you take my reputation and then my name?”

 

Dean is cold as a stone and stares at him without a word. Sam frowns and his eyes wander on the floor, before they fall back on Lucifer. “I don't understand. The article was about some kind of serial killer who terrorized the town a few years ago and only attacked in the woods. That he only came back a few months ago. And- and they called him the Devil because his crimes...” He stops, his eyes widen.

 

“Were so horrible they thought he was coming from Hell.” Lucifer finishes, watching realization spread on Sam's face.

 

“But it can't be you, right?” Sam asks, raising his head to look at Dean, and the demon's cold mask falls a little under the frightened, incredulous look from his brother. “You'd never do that!” He shouts, trying to convince himself.

 

“Well, when you went on a road trip with your new friend, your brother kind of lost his mind.” Lucifer says, raising a finger to make circles around his temple. “That was ugly, I can tell you. Castiel could tell you every detail if you wanted but I doubt-”

 

“ **ENOUGH**!” Dean shouts, and the three angels and his brother flinch, turning to this shaking vortex of darkness. “I don't know what you're trying to do, but you're gonna stop right now!” He spits at Lucifer's face.

 

He turns back and starts walking to the door when his brother gets up suddenly and stops him, a hand on his arm. His gentle eyes search his. “Is he telling the truth?” He asks softly, swallowing hardly at the idea of his brother slicing throats and ripping hearts in the depths of the forest.

Dean stares at him for a moment, his eyes empty of any emotion, if not a genuine grief and guilt, but Sam feels like he always saw it in his brother.

 

Then, Dean speaks, and his voice is dully, his tongue furred. “I wasn't myself.” He says and Sam blinks, trying to accept the Truth, for his brother was giving it to him. He could not refuse the gift. “That doesn't excuse me for what I've done but it's over now, OK?” He asks and Sam nods slightly and he wants to take his brother in his arms, letting him know he is here for him, that they can forget the past and move on, that the great, terrifying past, does not matter anymore.

 

Dean moves before his brother can reach out to him. “I'm going to wait outside.” It is not a question. He does not need permission.

 

Charlie tries to stop him. “Dean wait you're going to get sick and-”

 

Her warning is cut by the sound of the door slammed roughly. Dean goes outside, soon embraced by glacial arms. Winter kisses his lips hard and he shivers. He sits on the steps of the patio, stuffs his hands in his pocket and hunches his shoulders.

He does not know how long he stays there, he just knows no one came to bother him. They felt the cold aura moving around him, and they let him enough space to breathe. That was all he was asking for. He just observes the woods, the snow falling, imperturbable. His own little world may be collapsing, but Nature is not.

 

Amara's words echoes in his mind and he cannot make them go away. It is not like he has a choice. Want it or not, when the moon will rise above the woods and the clock will sing its dreadful melody, she will come, dressed in black and will face him. And yes, he can choose but is it really a choice when the lives of the ones he loves are the price to pay for his freedom?

He sighs deeply and he realizes how tired he is when he feels his eyelids fluttering, and he has to keep himself from falling asleep. He blinks and a little black dot appears on the horizon. He frowns and narrows his eyes. The dot is getting bigger and it is coming to him. He stands up and tries to see better, but the snow shines so white it blinds him and the only thing he can see is the dark silhouettes of the pines. He starts walking carefully to the moving shadow, his steps heavy and frozen under him.

 

As he is getting closer, the shape appears on his irises. As he is getting closer, he starts to see the details that make a familiar, tall silhouette. Black hair floating in the wind, covered of snowflakes. Fresh blue soul rising in threads to the skies above. A wing folded neatly, another half spread, last speck of grace.

Bittersweet feeling in Dean's heart. A part of him screams and wants to run to the man, the other grits his teeth and starts walking faster, fists clenched. When he is a few feet away, and the angel looks like he did not see him, he screams.

 

“You idiot!”

 

Castiel raises his head suddenly and is suddenly attacked by an evil storm. The demon fulminates against him and he grips his collar, their faces only separated by a few inches, a thin ribbon of cold air.

“Why did you do that?!” Dean shouts, anger boiling in him like lava in a volcano. “You don't think I've enough? You play knights and then you leave? What if you never came back and I didn't know where you were? How do you think I'd feel?!” He says and his rage fades slowly, carefully stepping back into his skull as the angel's eyes open wider.

 

“Dean, I'm sorry. I did it to keep you safe.” He says and his eyes are full of worry. The demon sighs.

 

“Yeah, try not to get killed, that's the best you can do for me.” Dean answers, before his arms surround Castiel like a trap of silk.

 

Castiel puts his head on his shoulder, buries his face in his neck, breathing hot on his skin. Dean's fingers grip the back of his head, handfuls of soft dark hair in his cold palms. Castiel wraps his arms around his waist, his heart is beating fast against Dean's, together in the same tempo, like perfect instruments. Dean breathes into the angel's divine warmth, breathes into strands of pure black night, trying to remember their scents of pines and stardust, fresh cold air and burnt houses, liquid gold and honey.

“We have to go inside. I have something to tell.” Dean says, and his hand wanders on the curve of Cas' wing, fingers diving into feathers as dark as the Void between stars. Cas shivers a little under the touch.

 

“What is it?” The angel asks, his voice barely audible against Dean.

 

The demon takes a deep breath. “I may leave to never come back.” He whispers in Castiel's hair.

 

**X**

 

“We'll find another way.” Sam says, frowning in front of him, arms crossed on his chest. He stood up when his brain started to ache furiously and he makes small circles on his temples with his fingers, trying to chase the pain away.

 

“There's not.” Dean answers calmly.

 

“Come on! You made me remember everything after seven years of amnesia, we live with three angels, and one of them is Lucifer himself! You're dating Castiel! And my girlfriend is a Nephilim!” He stops to breathe, opening incredulous eyes and Dean notices the surprised look Eileen gives his brother, shock painted on her wings. “I think we've seen everything already!” Sam adds.

 

Dean sighs. “Yeah, well, guess we were wrong. She's nothing like we know.”

 

“Did you search in Dad's books? Or on Internet?” Sam asks, his features tense as a bow.

 

“They all burned.” Dean says, and the memory of the house covered in hot flames appears in his mind, fresh painting of ashes. “And I don't think we can find this online.” He gives his brother an exhausted look. “What are you gonna search? _'Biblical force who wants to kill us all so she can have my brother to help her killing God'_ ?” He shakes his head and takes a long sip of his beer. “Nah, don't think it's gonna work.” He snaps, bitterness tainting his voice.

 

“Maybe with a banishing spell?” Eileen suggests. “Like the ones against angels? Or some kind of trap?” Her gray wings fold themselves behind her while she is thinking.

 

“No, it wouldn't work either.” Castiel says, him who was silent since that moment. He refused any solutions that implied Dean following her since the beginning. He turns to Lucifer. “Don't you remember her story?”

 

The Devil stares at him without blinking, his faded eyes full of boredom. “No, I don't. I think I'd remember if I met her.”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “I think I heard about something on Earth like this, but I don't know what happened. I didn't leave Heaven at this time.”

 

Charlie raises her pale hands. “Don't look at me, I was way too young to remember.” Dean thinks of her definition of “young”. Probably not his own.

 

Dean passes a hand on his face. “So what? She is lying? Or God didn't want you to see that?” He says.

 

Castiel frowns. “Why would he do that?” He asks, puzzled.

 

Lucifer has a little sarcastic laugh. “Well, Dad wasn't really the bedtime stories kind.”

 

They all sigh in the same motion, shoulders dropping low, Destiny weighing down on them. Eyes are lost into space, thoughts are flying, thick and darker than the night.

“There's only one way.” Dean suddenly says, observing the pale sun shine on his bottle.

 

Castiel's aura brightens and starts pulsing angrily, fresh blue turning dark, spotted of black and red on the edges. “Dean, you know it's not going to happen.”

 

The demon raises his eyes to look at him. “Really? You think I'm going to let you all die because of me? **This** is not going to happen.” He says and he gets up to get another beer, walking by Castiel who covers him with a dark look.

 

Sam clears his throat. “Castiel is right.” He says and his brother turns to him, incredulous.

 

“What, you too?!” He says, raising his eyes, exasperated.

 

“I agree.” Eileen says, Dean's lightning crackling to her and his expression darkens again. “Letting you sacrifice yourself is not an option.” She adds softly, and her aura pushes to him, purple rain of tenderness and affection.

 

Charlie nods, and Dean never saw her eyes more serious. All her centuries fall on her and Dean does not see the joyful woman anymore, he sees the angel capable of destroying stars if she wanted to. Suddenly, her wings do not seem small and adorable anymore, they are sharp and surrounded by stardust and gold.

 

“I agree with Castiel.” Lucifer says and they all turn to him in the same motion, eyebrows raised. “What? Don't look at me like that! If our friend over there leaves with the lady, guess who will have to see you whine all day long?” He points at his chest. “Me!”

 

Dean gives him a tired look before he turns to the rest of the group again. “So, what do you suggest?”

 

“We fight.” Castiel says, his voice sharp and cold like a blade.

 

“It's suicide!” Dean shouts and it is like he will never see the end of this maze.

 

“We don't have a choice! I have to accept!” He snaps and his soul stabs Castiel's, making the angel's whole body stiffen.

 

“Dean.” Castiel says, and it sounds like a warning, his name sounding hot and threatening on the angel's tongue. The demon ignores him and keeps going.

 

“Believe me I don't want to do this! But I have to and it's my choice! Not yours!” He shouts before he turns to his brother. “Oh and yes, this woman killed our parents and Jess!” Sam flinches and his eyes sadden, and he lowers his head. “Do you really want to lose everything you have? That's it? You don't care?”

 

“Dean, you don't think that.” Sam whispers and Dean sees him clench his jaw, the muscles rolling like thunder under his skin. Eileen passes a hand and a wing around his shoulders and draws him to her.

 

“That's what I think. You're ready to let them all die because of me?!” Dean says, incredulous.

 

“No I don't!” Sam suddenly shouts, getting up to face him. “But I just started to find a normal life and you're asking me to let you die! And you know I can't do it!”

 

“Sam, listen to me,” Dean starts putting a hand on Sam's tense shoulder. “You'll never be alone, OK? You'll have Charlie, and Eileen, and Cas! You think about that?”

 

“I know. But you're my brother and I already spent seven years of my life thinking you didn't exist. I think I have the right to decide if I want to fight for you.” He says and he does not blink, does not breathe. He is a perfect statue of cold marble, a great warrior behind his gentle puppy eyes. Dean remembers when their dad taught them to fight. If he was stronger because of his demonic blood, Sam always had been wiser and incredibly clever. Dean does not doubt for a second of his strength, and he is sure his brother could throw him across the room if he wanted to.

 

Dean steps back. “I'm sorry. But I can't let you do that.”

 

“Dean.”

 

Second warning from the dark haired angel, so cold the temperature drops around them and Dean has a shiver. He turns to Castiel and his heart jumps when he faces features made of lightning and thunder, devoid of any smile or spark. It is a soldier from Heaven looking at him and his eyes shine of the same color as his blade.

 

“What?” Dean asks lightly.

 

“We're going to talk outside.” He snaps and before the demon can think, Castiel grabs his arm and forces him to follow him. His steps are rapid and angry and Dean stumbles behind him, his evil soul bowing in front of such a celestial wrath issuing from him.

 

They come out of the house and the door slams violently. Castiel leaves his arm and walks to the field behind, his feet echoing like a winter melody on the frozen snow. His fists are clenched, his body tense, his wings folded neatly, too close to his back. Dean follows him, intrigued, but lets some space between them, already feeling the electricity in the air, the storm that is about to explode, to crash down on him.

Castiel stops in the middle of the field, back towards Dean. The demon does the same behind him and he waits, knowing rushing the angel and playing with a ticking time bomb would amount to the same thing. He puts a hand on his shoulder, gently, approaching the wild animal coming from the sky.

 

“Cas…” He whispers.

 

Suddenly, Castiel turns back and pushes his hand, grace exploding around them like a firework. His eyes are ablaze, swirling of blinding shades of blue and white, and his expression is everything but human.

“How can you think we're going to let you die?!” He screams and it echoes in the woods like a sharp lament, a piercing agony.

 

“Cas, not to let me die. Just to let me go.” He says, hopping it could appease the angel.

 

It does not.

 

“It's the same! It's- it's a trap, Dean!” His eyes get brighter and Dean steps back, feeling scared for the first time. Castiel's free wing opens behind him, sharp and black. “You act like it doesn't matter, like you don't care! You're just asking us to stop caring about you!”

 

“I didn't say that-”

 

“We all care about you!” Castiel cuts him off. He gets closer and his burning aura prickles Dean's skin. He shivers. “We all love you and we would never let you save us if you have to pay the price with your life!”

 

“Castiel.” Dean says, and the name sounds strange on his tongue, soft and cold as the same time, the letters rolling in his mouth in a foreign song. The angel looks at him when he hears his name and he stops, breathless, shaking of anger. “I'm not saying you don't care about me. My choice is selfish, I know that. But with her, there's only one way out: the bloody one. If I don't accept, she'll not turn back and try to find another guy. She'll kill every single person I ever loved and then, I'll not have the choice. I'll not just become a monster, I'll live forever knowing I could have saved you.”

 

“But anything is better than a life of servitude.” Castiel says softly. “Believe me, I know that.” His wing drops behind him and he gives Dean a hurt look. “We could take your brother somewhere safe and you could run away with him. You won't have to choose.”

 

“It's not only about Sam.” Dean answers, frowning. “I won't live without my family. And it includes Charlie and Eileen, and believe it or not, Lucifer. And I'll never let her kill you to be safe. Besides, she would find us anyway.”

 

Castiel stares at him and it is like looking at a mirror shattering, pieces falling one by one. “I watched you die once.” He whispers. “I watched you live and I watched you look at me like a stranger.” He shakes his head, tears rising like the Flood in his eyes. “I thought I would lose my mind the first time. I don't think I would survive a second time.”

 

“Don't say that.” Dean whispers and he grits his teeth. A ball of sorrow rises in his throat. “Don't say I'm the one who makes you hold onto life.”

 

Castiel holds his gaze with gray oceans for eyes. “Right, I'm not going to say it. You're the one keeping me from death.” He says.

 

Dean stares at him for a while without a word. How can he, a demon among millions of others, creating chaos everywhere he goes, can be the reason a star is still alive, the reason its heart is still beating under layers of dust and colors?

 

“Shit.” Dean mutters and he takes Castiel by his shoulder, drawing him to him, putting his head covered of a dark halo against his chest, and the angel does not move. His arms are still on his sides and Dean barely feels him breathing against him. “Don't think you can't live without me. You did it for centuries!”

 

“But now that I know what's like, I can't.” Castiel says in a breath against his neck.

 

“C'mon, Cas, you'll find someone better! And you'll live a normal life for the rest of your days!”

 

“What if I don't want to?” The angel asks with a sob strangling his delicate neck with hands of ice.

 

“You'll have to.” Dean moves and forces Castiel to look at him, but does not release him. Castiel stares at him with dull empty skies. “If I ever come out alive of this thing, it could be in thousands of years. And I won't come back to you, because you don't deserve that. I can't leave and just come after you everytime.”

 

“So you'd let me believe you're dead rather than coming back?” Castiel asks and as an answer, Dean nods. Castiel's head falls back on his shoulder. “That's cruel.”

 

“Yeah, well, I'm a demon. That's who I am. And I'd rather let you think I'm dead for good than destroy you again.” His hand wanders in Cas' hair, his eyes into the pines on the horizon. “Maybe we're not meant to be. That's all.”

 

After all, what does it mean? Being? Having a soul, a body, both? Knowing you are living, breathing, realizing there is a whole wide world around you? And what does it mean to “be” together? As two creatures that exist at the same time, in the same Universe, “together” is already an important word. If the probability they met was tiny, the fact their bodies collapse against each other is a miracle. If being together means walking side by side every morning, and taste each other's soul and sip life through lips of joy, then they are asking for too much. Existing on the same neighborhood of the Universe, and watching the same stars turning, well, it could be possible. But light cannot live with darkness, it is a simple rule, they must exist together, just not in the same place. The day cannot kiss the night, everytime it tries to touch it, he swallows it whole and it turns into something it is not, and when the night kisses the day, it becomes cold and deep and full of dark secrets.

_Simple little rule_ , God said. I allow you to “be” on this Earth together, but together is a different word to me, just as “being” does not mean anything to me. Just shine, and know each other exist, but do no try to cross the line, the forbidden line. Maybe you could breathe a little into each other and I would call it sunrise and sunset, just a little of each other, a little tainted of blue, a little tainted of red, light and darkness. But do not ask for more or I could keep the night and the day from existing. So just accept the timid touch but do not try to embrace. Love is temptation and love is cruelty. Love is selfish and it destroys everything it touches. So hear me, now, grace and smoke, sun and moon, wind and ocean. **You are not meant to be.**

 

Dean bites his lips, keeps himself from diving back into Castiel, or he knows, oh he knows the separation would kill him, demon or not, rage or not. Most of all, he is scared of what is going to happen. The angel is the only thing keeping him from the edge, from turning into a hot bullet ripping flesh and blood apart.

He sighs and closes his eyes, Castiel's heart and his own beating at the speed of light crossing space to dive into their irises. There is a red flash behind his closed eyelids and the wind falls. The air grows colder.

 

He opens his eyes again. Darkness shines in his pupils.

“Time has come, Dean.” She whispers.

 

He shakes the vision away, but it will not leave. His heart stops.

 

Amara smiles. “I hope you made the right choice.” She says in the empty frozen field.

 

**X**

 

His first instinct is to step back and pushes the angel behind him. Castiel froze and is standing like a statue of salt in front of the evil apparition. Despite Dean's silhouette almost hiding him, he is standing tall, his wing open wide behind him, knives of black ice shooting at the sky. In a second, his blade shines silver in his hand and he walks next to Dean.

“What are you doing here?” Dean snaps and his eyes turn into oceans of black ink. A low growl rises in his throat. “I don't think it's midnight yet.”

 

Next to him, the Seraph's palms are filled with pale blue light, almost white, and his eyes turned the same color. There is no more wind, the plain is calm, there is not a sound. The birds are quiet, the trees listen, hold their breath.

 

Amara gives Castiel a despising look, look that falls on his broken wing, before it turns back to Dean. “Well, not it is.” She says, before snapping her fingers.

 

The night falls like a curtain. Black, thick, silent. The moon rises, imperturbable, white circle of porcelain shining in the dark skies. There is not a single star, they all hid behind the soft velvet. Blackness fills the world and she stares right into Dean's eyes. In the house, the clock resonates, loud, terrifying, terrible. Midnight appears, and yet there is a strange clarity above their heads, a certain light illuminating the stage.

 

As Dean feared, the door opens wide and all his family comes out like the same river, fresh pure water singing happily in his heart. Lazarus runs to him, and stands by his side, and Dean would swear he is now twice bigger, his fur standing on end, white fangs showing while a dreadful sounds comes out of his maw. He does not seem scared anymore of the black ghost in front of him. His eyes flash red, and there are no more pupils, just bottomless oceans of blood. When he makes a step, his paws leave burned marks on the ground, embers glowing under him.

Sam is the first to speak, running to Dean. “What happened? We saw the night and-”

 

He stops when he sees the abomination in front of him. His eyes darken and he clenches his jaw, going from an amusing confusion to a strong block of ice. His soul pulses around him, rage flows in his veins. Amara gives him a little cruel smile. “Hello, Sam. Pleasure to see you again.”

 

Sam's eyes only get angrier and he clenches his fists, and Dean sees the warrior in him, his soul rising above him with knives and guns.

 

Charlie and Eileen arrive, short feathers spread behind them. The redhead's blade is already in her hand, as the half-angel holds a strange sharp knife with a wooden handle. Lucifer walks slowly to them and there is not even a hint of surprise or fear in his eyes, and it strikes something in Dean. He frowns but brushes it away, focusing on the threat.

“Well, that's quite an army you have here, Dean. I suppose that means your answer is disappointing.” She tilts her head, a false hurt expression on her thin lips. “I was expecting better from you.” She adds.

 

“I didn't say anything.” Dean answers and he feels Castiel stiffening next to him, his grace wrapping itself around his lungs to keep him from saying more. Dean glances at him before he turns back to Amara. “I accept.” He says, holding his head high, proud.

 

There are mutters of incomprehension next to him and Sam appears on his field of vision. “What are you doing?” His brother says behind his teeth, shaking of wrath.

 

“What I have to do.” The demon answers calmly.

 

Soon, the angels surround him and it is a shield of wings covering the horizon, black, gray, brown and white abstract painting, with golden and silver hints touching his eyes like suns and moons.

“You cannot do that.” A voice whispers.

 

“It's suicide. You don't need to do that.” Another says.

 

“I won't let you.” Castiel says and his eyes are fixed on him, gray stones under the moon.

 

“She'll kills us anyway.”

 

“Let us fight.”

 

“ _We won't let you fall.”_ They all say in his mind and it is a rush of thousands of different colors in his head, bright and faded, warm and cold, familiar and odd.

 

He is about to protest, to claim his live is his, and not theirs, when Amara's voice resonates again, slightly exasperated, but still tainted of the same old smile that knows everything that is coming, to the end of this Earth, to the birth of a new world and beyond.

“I want to be sure you're saying the truth and you won't change your mind. It's not a problem, right?” She asks and there is a glimpse in her eyes that makes Dean shiver.

 

“What are you talking-”

 

Amara raises a hand and shoots her black magic to Lazarus. The dog howls of agony and his silhouette flies against a tree to crash loudly. The sound of bones breaking haunts Dean's mind and the wolf tries to get up, but his limbs are in pieces inside, and he falls back on the soil, nearly crying to the moon. His eyes turn back to warm brown, and he is suddenly nothing but just a wounded dog, his ears flattened on his head, a dully plaint coming from his maw.

 

“What are you doing?” Dean shouts and Amara does not look at him for once. Her cursed eyes flies to his army standing by his side. They travel from one angel to another, fall on his brother, to dive back on colored feathers. It seems to be a sick little game for her. Her look lands on Lucifer, and Dean would swear he caught a slight nod from the archangel in the corner of his eye, before this one flies into the night like a broken arrow and lands in the mud with a scream of pain, his dull wings like flags in the night.

 

“Another out.” Amara exclaims, excited, joyful, twisted. Her hand flutters in front of her, and her fingers are knives designating the next victim, burning chains wrapping themselves around their necks.

 

_Oh/God/Could/It/Be/This/One/Sheep/For/This/One/Is/The/Sweetest/Lamb_

 

Her hand stops on Charlie and the angel opens wide eyes and her wings are tainted of fear, shaking. She grips her blade like Life itself, knuckles turning as white as the snow covering the ground. “I'm not scared.” She mutters, eyes illuminated of grace, more in a way to convince herself and breathing strength into her than to prove the dark woman what he says.

 

Amara smirks. “Oh, really?” She says and her hand flies like a butterfly of steel.

 

_Crash_. Charlie falls on the soil with a thud, her sobs getting stuck in her throat, as she holds her broken ribs, one wing twisted in a wrong angle, the largest feathers tattered and covered of dirt. She rolls on the ground, and it is not where she belongs, no the skies are her home but she cannot fly. Castiel has a strangled noise and Dean sees he wants to run to his little sister, the only one who ever treated like the angel he was.

 

_Blink_. Amara turns back to them and Dean makes them all step back in one motion, like a wave they leave and hands tighten their grip on shiny weapons, yet useless. Dark eyes stare at the monster and blood boils in blue veins.

 

_Sweet/Sheep/Don't/Cry/I'm/Coming/For/You/So/Don't/You/Weep/In/The/Dark_

 

The butterfly of ice flutters towards Eileen and the half-angel's soul shoots knives at Amara, eyes darker than the night. Dean watches her leave into the cold field, powerless. His brother screams the woman's name and starts moving to her, but Dean stops him, an arm across his chest. Sam gives him a terrified look full of anger and tears, but steps back behind him, unwillingly, staring at the motionless gray wings covering Eileen's body like a shroud.

 

Amara turns to them and her smile widens. “Oh, it's getting interesting.” She says as her eyes fly from Castiel to Sam in an endless motion. “I told you you'd have to choose.” She says and Dean's whole body freezes. “What's your choice?” She whispers, her eyes full of madness.

 

“I'm not doing this.” He snaps. “I told you I'd come with you! Now, stop!” He shouts to the winter. Castiel's shoulder is pressed against his, and his brother does the same on the other side. They are one unique block of frozen fire, a stone castle rising in front of her, a bridge for light made of smoke and grace.

 

“You don't understand.” The woman says, full of pity. “I have to make sure you'll be loyal to me, that you know what will happen to them-” She continues, pointing at the angels and Lazarus crawling at her feet. “-if you try to disobey.”

 

“I won't!” He screams, and he is so ashamed of his own weakness. His eyes turned back to green, fear cannot keep the anger bottled up in his body. “Just let them go!”

 

“No.” She says, her voice as cold and rough as ice stabbing his head, silver knives diving in his brain. “You have to make a choice. The angel or your brother?”

 

“I can't!” He shouts again and his distraught heartbeats turn to Castiel and Sam, ripped apart by the situation. Both of them look at him with desperate eyes and both of them tell him to choose the other. Dean's breathing turns into painful sobs filling his paper lungs.

 

Amara looks at him with a little satisfied pout. “Perfect.” She murmurs.

 

_My/Black/Sheep/Is/Not/A/Good/Sheep/So/By/My/Hand/It/Must/Suffer/Now_

 

At the same time, Sam falls on his knees, a hand flying to his heart that ache like it has been thrown into the deepest circle of Hell and Castiel starts coughing, his own hand finding Dean's shoulder as his body is getting weaker and thick dark blood spurts out of his mouth, making him unable to breathe, causing strangled noises to echo in Dean's ears, as his own soul is strangled by suffering. His body freezes and he cannot move.

 

“Stop it!” He howls of pain. “Please!” He begs, falling down on his knees, praying to the darkness.

 

Amara raises an eyebrow. Sam is getting paler, his body shakes, his eyes are duller. Castiel's fingers dive into the soil, he grips the Earth, his grace is shaken by awful sobs, his soul burns of a strange fever. He raises his eyes to Dean and his wings are covered by electricity, by threads of blue and red lights, crawling under the feathers like hands of fire, causing him screams of agony.

 

“Dean-” He stops and dark blue blood comes out of his mouth, flows on his chin, on his neck. “Don't do that. Don't do it.” He begs, his weak hand gripping Dean's jacket, eyes swirling of hot pain.

 

The demon's hands fly to his face, frame it of shaking gold. “I won't let you die.” He whispers before putting a desperate kiss on his mouth, kiss tainted of sorrow, suffering and blood flowing blue like poison. Castiel holds onto him and he draws him close, and every second that pass become more and more painful, and every second that pass makes it harder to leave. The angel pushes all his strength to him and his grace surrounds them, and Dean screams inside, for he does not want to leave, he does not want to suffer, he is selfish probably but he just cannot. He spent so much time on his own, wandering in the woods, only finding comfort in blood and broken bones, and now that he finally found Heaven on Earth, he is about to leave it so soon. Dean presses his lips against Castiel's for the last time and he rips himself from the warm sensation and his soul is shocked, it screams, points at the angel looking at him with broken glass eyes, and it asks him _why_.

 

“ _Why are you doing this? Why must we ache to live?! Why can't my love be free?!”_ His soul screams.

“ _It is a simple rule, the rule of all my Universe._ _I gave you this life and it is not for free. You must pay the price in suffering and despair. Oh, do not scream, do not cry, you are not alone. Each soul on this ground and on every star feels the same. You have to fight for it until you fall on your knees, take a deep breath and scream **“Oh my world it fell so quietly!”** Now start begging for your sins and pray for the best. Say your sweet prayers and I will let you live in my land of light. But abandon yourself to a feeling as contemptible as love and you will wander forever in the dark.” _ God answers calmly.

 

Dean turns to Sam and his hand lands on his shoulder. “Sam, Sam listen to me.” His brother raises blurred eyes to look at him, green and blue becoming dull, falling into depths of pale fog. “Promise me you'll keep living.” Sam shakes his head. “Promise me!” Dean shouts, sobs in the voice, gripping his brother's jacket with both hands. “You have to promise me!” He repeats.

 

“Dean wait-”

 

“Promise me you'll take care of him too.” The demon says as he tries to control his shaking voice. “Please.” He begs. Sam stares at him and he is breathless, the spell is pumping his strength away. He would like to protest but he cannot, not anymore. He nods silently and his half closed irises speak for him.

_It hurts, it hurts, it hurts._

 

Dean thanks him with a little sign of his head and he gets up, walks to his destiny. Amara welcomes him with a wide smile. “Are you ready?” She says, her hand already raised in the air, flying like a lethal moth to him, full of poison and wine.

 

He turns a last time, a last time before his memory is sucked into a whirlpool of blackness and chaos and destruction, and before he is nothing but an animal driven by blood lust. Charlie, Eileen, Lucifer, Sam, Lazarus are staring at him with pain filling their eyes and the vision is carved into his skull with golden letters. But Castiel is not looking at him, he looks at anything but him. His jaw his clenched, his wings hang in the dirt, his halo fell at his feet and he buries it into the ground.

 

Dean takes a deep breath. Amara lands her hand on his arm, and her own Mark glows like embers, before his scar shines like a ruby. The End explodes in his mind. The wind does not blow. The pines do not shake.

 

Castiel pushes his weakness away and dares to look at his evil light. There is just a little sigh in the wind when Dean's features stop being so tense. They just become numb, soft, smooth as snow. They melt, they flow like water and it is suddenly a mask made of winter and marble that stares at him without blinking. His angel heart stops when he recognizes the Void in Dean's eyes, the one he already saw when he came back from Hell. Now he dives right back in.

 

Eyes turn black, black again. A smirk appears on frozen blue lips.

 

Madness _**b e g i n s**_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Our World It Fell So Quietly" is a song by The Irrepressibles.
> 
> Side note: all the previous chapters have been edited and corrected! (✿◠‿◠)


	11. I Listen To Static

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title + Inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3bklUMHepU

“It has a little 50's vibe, don't you think?” The man asks, opening the door of his bright red car, shiny smooth horse growling under his feet. The cold air hits his cheeks, moves black strands on his head. He turns to his wife, lets his eyes wander on her dress, as red as the car. “You like it?” He asks.

 

Sarah looks at him, pale hair falling into curls around her face. Her mouth shapes into a heart, lips pressed tight, before it spreads into a wide smile of white teeth. “Jack, I love it!” She presses a loud kiss on his cheek, leaving a scented mark of dark lipstick on his skin.

 

They get out of the car, her heels resonating on the parking, clicking on the hard frozen ground. Other cars sleep next to theirs, their soft surfaces bathed into the neon lights, blue and red. Blue on her hair, turning her into a creature coming from the depths of the ocean, red on his features, sharp and strong, a smiling demon running into flames.

He left his work earlier, and went home to pack a few things. They drove for hours, leaving the warmth of Florida, letting the sun throw its last embers behind them, cool wind brushing against their cheeks. But soon enough, the skies darkened and they had to close all windows, hiding from the world behind clear glass, sunglasses reflecting threatening clouds above them.

The place is strangely calm, and there is a glacial breeze blowing over the building that is still flashing endlessly like a lighthouse guiding lost boats. She shivers and he takes his suit jacket off, puts it gently on her thin shoulders. She gives him a smile and his heart melts under the stars, burning of love. “Are you sure you want to go there?” He asks, giving the place a look. It is not as _chic_ as the ones they are used to, but to celebrate their first year together, she asked for it, and he cannot refuse. She nods and her hand finds his, thin white fingers feeling fresh in his palm.

 

The night is thick, and there is a not a single light coming out of the windows, just a vaguely intriguing darkness surrounding the motel. He opens the door and she walks in, stepping to the reception desk. A rather young woman raises her head when she hears them and the second after, a smile appears on her thin lips.

“Welcome to the Black Motel!” She exclaims. “You are lucky, our last room is the King Bed one! I think you'll like it.” She says, and her eyes land on the couple, her lips curling into a smirk that makes the woman shivers.

 

Sarah turns to her husband. “It's perfect!” She says, but there is a lump on her throat and if she smiles the best she can, a heavy doubt falls on her frail silhouette, a shadow that makes her heart race to the speed of light.

 

Jack gives her an intrigued look. “Are you sure?” He asks, and she nods, still beaming, but he is not blind, he sees the way her smile froze, how her body stiffened suddenly. He turns to the woman, who is still looking at them and his own soul jumps inside him. He swallows down and tries to be as polite as possible. “Well, we'll stay for one night then.”

 

“You'll not regret it!” The lady says, and she gets up to get the keys behind her. She is wearing dark jeans and a dark leather jacket that cage her silhouette of blackness, and he would swear he saw a red liquid dripping from her long fingers. He blinks, and the second after, she hands him the keys, air pulsing hot around her. She winks. “You'll live the night of your life!” She adds, before she walks back behind her desk, her heels like a dreadful melody.

 

Jack hastily puts some bills on the desk and takes the bags and his wife's hand to lead her outside. The building is quite big and they wander for a moment before they find the entrance. He lands a hand on a rusty white barrier and he shivers when his fingers meet the cold metal. He pushes it and they walk into the inner courtyard. Large gray tiles cover the ground and the pool shines under the flickering lights, and the water moves and crashes, bubbles happily as if something was breathing under the surface. There is not a single soul here and the man begins to wonder if he should not have kept driving for an hour or two. There is something indescribable about the place, shivers covering his back, electricity running in the air around them.

He looks around and his eyes fall on the left side of the building, illuminated by red neon lights and he cannot find the source of such an evil color. He walks slowly to the doors, aligned and white like stars, and he looks at the key the woman gave them. He looks back at the door he stopped in front of, and he frowns. _**666**_ the key says, and _**666**_ the door repeats in golden letters. Sick joke.

“There aren't so many rooms...” He mutters to himself, puzzled, but he still turns the key in the door that opens with a dreadful creaking. He has a little shiver and steps into the room.

 

He does not know what he was expecting when he turned on the lights, but it is definitely not the clean, fresh ribbon of softness that wraps itself around his bones. Light wooden furniture and a wide bed covered of dark blue and white sheets are waiting for them and when he collapses on them, a delicate scent surrounds him. He sighs of relief and pleasure as he closes his eyes. Soon, another weight falls on the bed and he turns to look at his wife.

“So what do you think?” He whispers as he wraps a strand of her blonde hair around his finger.

 

“It's perfect.” She whispers back and a soft smile spreads on her face, brightens the dark night. “Everything's perfect.” She says as she puts a tender kiss on his mouth, and his hand wanders on her dress of silk, slips under a thin strap.

 

“I'm going to buy us some champagne, alright?” He asks, as he gets up again, before he opens his bag to get more comfortable clothes.

 

“No, please don't leave me here alone!” She suddenly shrieks, sitting right on the bed, eyes wide open of fear, arms wrapped around her waist.

 

He gives her a surprised look, before he walks back to her and sits by her side, confused in front of her haunted expression. “What's wrong, honey?” He asks gently.

 

“Nothing.” She whispers, her eyes finding his, and it is terrorized crystals staring at him. “I just don't want to be alone.” She grips his wrist. “Please.”

 

He frowns. “Don't worry. I'll do as fast as I can.” He answers, and he takes her hands in his, her skin as white as snow contrasting with his tan.

 

Sarah opens her mouth, as if she was about to say something but she shuts it suddenly and presses her lips tight. She could tell him she does not want to stay here but it is foolish, she is scared for nothing. They waited this trip for so long, and now she just wants to ruin it all? She cannot do that to him, she cannot stare into these summer-sky blue eyes and tells him they have to drive back into the night. He does everything for her, and she is about to ask for more. No, definitely, it is insane. She must be hungry or tired, it is nothing about this odd place.

She nods. “Alright. I will wait for you.” She wraps her thin arms around his shoulders and holds him close for a second. “Just be quick.”

 

“I promise.” He says before he puts a kiss on the top of her head, breathing into pale gold.

 

He gets up and puts a sweater on, before he adds a heavy jacket. He gives her a last look and he goes outside, facing the rough winter. He stuffs his hand in his pockets and starts walking to the street.

He is muttering about the worst weather he has ever seen when a move catches his attention in the corner of his eye. He is half away from the barrier and he is already feeling the dread of the night coming down on him, but his body freezes and his steps get slower and slower until he stops in the middle of the inner courtyard. His limbs are cold and he shakes, and the darkness takes his breath away. He turns around slowly, his eyes wandering on the place, the pink neon lights casting moving shadows on the white walls.

 

Right here, in the bubbling pool illuminated in soft purple, a man is looking at him. His heart jumps in his chest and he watches the apparition with eyes full of terror. He tries to calm his breathing but his chest hurts like hell. He swallows down hardly and against his will, he walks to the stranger.

 

“Excuse me?” He says, clearing his throat. The man is still staring at him without a word, and Jack frowns. They went inside the room about five minutes ago and he was not there. It was like he appeared by magic. And now that he realizes, it is way too cold outside for a midnight bath. There is a colored fog rising above, and the man is not shivering, he seems quite calm actually, chest deep in the light purple water, an empty bottle of beer put down next to him on the tiles. “Could you tell me where I can buy alcohol, please?” Jack asks, unsure, words shaking.

 

The man suddenly has a little laugh that makes Jack jumps. “Sure I can.” He answers, and his voice is low, deep, raw like red meat, bloody, strong like liquor. The kind of voice that could resonate in empty woods at 2 A.M.

 

The silhouette suddenly moves and without realizing, Jack finds himself on the edge of the pool, watching his reflection in the cloudy soapy water. With sweeping movements, the man swims to him, the muscles of his shoulders playing under his skin. He swims so slow to him and the water moves around him, bright and hot. Jack feels his control on the situation fades away when he gets down on his knees to face the stranger. He is doing everything he has been taught not to do. He should not be there.

The man is now a few feet away, his body floating in the blurry water and Jack notices the star surrounded by flames on his chest. Short strands of wet hair fall on his forehead and in the darkness around, his eyes look like two black pearls, bottomless oceans of ink. He moves again, just a little bit, and he is now a few inches away. “What are you searching?” He asks with the same raspy voice.

 

“Champagne.” Jack blurts and the dark stranger is coming even closer, piercing his private bubble with daggers. He shakes but when he tries to move, his limbs are numb and do not obey, do not even hear his orders. He just stays on his knees, watching the shark swimming slowly to him, eyes fixed strong on him as if he was a bleeding prey.

 

The man has a little laugh that shakes Jack's bones. “Fancy.” He says, amused. He raises a hand to push some hair back and unwillingly, Jack follows the move, watching the purple water drips on his features like a pastel poison. He swallows down and tries to focus back on the man's words. “Well, I know there is a shop down the street that sells this kind of things.” The stranger says.

 

He lowers his head and his eyes dive into Jack's. It is like he is sounding his soul, and the air grows even colder around him, as the water turns into a hot pink, steam creating gray ribbons above them. In a wide movement, he comes close to him and his hands are on each side of Jack's legs, pale claws on the tiles, and he puts all his weight on them. He hauls himself out of the water, just a little, and it flows around his waist in moving circles. He is now just a few inches from Jack's face and a smirk appears on his lips, as his bare chest frames the shaking man.

“May I ask what someone like you-” His eyes travel on Jack's neat clothes before they rise back to his face. “is doing here?”

 

Jack swallows down and he can barely breathes under these evil irises that shine black under the night. Discreet freckles cover the man's cheeks and nose but all the softness in his features disappears under the dark cloud that pulses around him, that grabs Jack's heart violently. “I'm.. I'm with my wife.” He mutters and the stranger tilts his head with an amused look.

 

“Your wife?” He asks and Jack nods, and he wishes he could look around, but all his soul jumps into the man's green oceans that glimmer with a mad spark. He has a wide, carnivorous smile and gets closer. He is nearly pressed against him and his warmth surrounds Jack, making him suffocate in silver lust. His look falls on the man's full lips and he only smiles wider. “Well, she cannot see us, right?” He whispers, leaning closer.

 

Jack shakes his head and his voice gets stuck in his throat, his fingers start to raise, aching to touch the other's man skin that bathes into bright neon lights. The vision is hypnotizing and he forgets how to breathe. His ribs itches under the flesh and something in his stomach bubbles, calls for dangerous and forbidden things. He swallows back the acid that rises and fills his lungs with a painful, yet delicious feeling. “I have to go.” He says and his mind screams LIES LIES LIES.

 

The stranger has a dark smile and leans towards him, his mouth brushing against his neck, causing a strangled, surprised cry from Jack. His lips flutter around his ear, follow the curve, pinches the flesh softly between his teeth. “Well, just be careful.” He whispers to him, hot breaths rushing to Jack's brain. “We never know what's prowling in the streets at this hour.” He says and there is a sharp pain in Jack's ear when he bites it, only creating colored visions in his mind.

 

The stranger moves back and the tip of his nose touches Jack's, his breathing hits him like storms and a low moan of pain escapes Jack's lips as his fingers brushes against the warm wet skin of the man's back. The water behind them is now tainted in red, projecting dreadful shadows around. He leans towards him to close the space between them, all his being screaming like an animal, and his mouth briefly brushes against the man's upper lip when he moves suddenly.

Jack takes a deep breath and blinks, but the man is already a few feet away, his body floating into the water that turned back into a lazy pale lavender, his arms slowly making circles. “Hope you find what you want.” He says, but it is ten thousand whispers filling Jack's brain and the air is suddenly too cold. The stranger winks at him and his heart jumps like a lion in a cage.

 

He gets up suddenly, and stumbles while moving back, his eyes still fixed on the ghost in the pool. This one gives him a last smile and Jack turns around, soul beating fast in his ribs, stomach at the edge of his lips. If his wife, the person he loved the most in the entire Earth, was not waiting for him, he would probably have swum in the hot soapy water until the morning rose. He bites his tongue until he bleeds, and dives into the night.

 

**X**

 

Half an hour after, he crawls back to the motel, shivering of cold. He holds the bottle of golden liquid close to his chest, as if it could bring him any warmth. He crosses the inner courtyard and beyond control, he gives the pool a nearly hopeful look. But it is empty, back to a dull, faded, cold blue and there is no demon inside smiling at him. He sighs and keeps walking, already dreaming of a warm, welcoming bed of white sheets. His hand raises to the knob but his move freezes when he sees.

 

The door is half open and a thin ribbon of bright red light escapes from the room. He frowns and he pushes it with shaking fingers.

 

The champagne bottle falls in near slow-motion, breaks into hundreds of sharp pieces of glass, explodes and lets the liquid gold flow on the floor. Jack's soul crawls into the darkest corner of his skull but his heart, oh god his heart shatters like the bottle, it breaks with incomprehension and suffering. He stumbles into the room and his legs barely carry him, and only this horrific call for darkness keeps him moving. His breaths are short and heavy, they are oh so heavy on his chest like stones sinking into water, they drag him down to Hell. He raises a shaking hand to his mouth and covers it, as if it could ease his pain, as if it could keep the scream that rises in his throat from coming out.

 

Sarah waits for him. Laying down on the floor. Surrounded by a puddle of warm blood that flows lazily.

 

He can barely see it staining her dress and he remembers when she bought it, how he was mesmerized by her silhouette, how the soft fabric wrapped itself around her body. But now it is just a silky shroud woven in veins and gold. Her chest is wide open, letting her missing heart breathe into the cold winter air, and guts come out of her thin body like gruesome ribbons. A wave of disgust moves Jack and he steps back, aching to breathe. Her eyes are still looking at him, clear like crystals, like fountains and lakes shining under a summer sun.

A strangled cry escapes his throat and he stumbles back to her, falls on his knees next to her. Tears roll down his cheeks, and he cries for long minutes, takes in his hands her motionless face that will never smile, never laugh, never frown again. He takes her against his chest and his sorrow runs free, holding hands with guilt. It is all his fault. If he had stayed, she would be alive, and he could have stopped the man – no, the monster – that did this to her. She is so frail in his arms, and he is so weak, his chin on the top of her cherished blonde head.

 

A thud makes him raise his head suddenly, and his eyes cross the demon from the neon pool's ones. He is standing right in front of him, and his irises are full of a thick black ink. His bare chest is covered of blood – her blood – and he looks at him without blinking. Blood, red bright blood drips from his shoulders, flows on his arms and finishes its run on his fingers, falls on the ground with small sounds. He is holding some kind of blade, made of a pale material that reminds Jack of bone. The cajoling smile is gone, and it is now a dull, numb mask that stares at him. Jack focuses on his features and realizes his lips tremble, and a frown scars his face made of cold marble.

“What have you done?” Jack whispers in a breath, his lungs burning inside and his hold on Sarah tightens.

 

The monster facing him has a sad smile, his lips simply curve into an open wound. Red neon lights turn Sarah's blood electric, fluorescent like illuminated by creatures coming from the skies. It shines like liquid rubies. “I had to.” He answers, and his voice is calm, but it sounds like he controls it, like he is screaming inside.

 

Jack's dive into his eyes. “You're a monster.” He says and he cannot find better words, because this creature, this abomination with dark eyes is nothing but an animal. An animal playing God, for he decided of how a life should end. What a foolish, arrogant, selfish, presumptuous soul!

 

The lights flashes blue around them. The man's expression changes suddenly, shifts from cold to tortured and he makes a step to him, eyes snapping back to the bright green Jack saw in the pool, glittering of gold. The blade falls on the floor with a loud sound and he has a strangled cry. “Cas?” He murmurs, and it sounds like a question, as if he was praying for the truth.

 

Jack frowns but ignores the stranger's little cry. His hands are soaked in blood and his eyes are blurry, there are red seas moving in front of them. “I hope they'll find you and you'll rot in jail for what you did! You're just a monster!” He shouts again, spitting at his feet, his grief boiling in his veins.

 

The man's skin is covered by a shiver and the second after he looks at him without an emotion, just a vague sorrow lost in a foggy desert. “You're not him.” He says and he looks at this black hair, these bright blue eyes. He has a whistle and the knife is suddenly back in his hand. He starts walking to the fake, the mask, the automaton, the machine that looks like an angel, but is not, that is a devil in disguise, a monster that he must erase from the surface of the Earth.

 

Jack's heart jumps of terror and his soul wants to survive. He gets up and stumbles back outside, his eyes falling on Sarah that looks at him with the same tenderness. He is out, and now he is bathed into the neon lights that shine, cruel and merciless.

He is out in the night and his soul screams of pain. He clenches his fists and he wishes he could fight, but his body is just too heavy, like a stone. The monster is walking to him, evil stubborn little soldier. His steps are slow, and his hips move like a tiger's. His skin shines under the moon and his darkness rustles like a flight of crows.

He is just a feet away and his eyes dive into Jack's, they are full of suffering and he looks at him as if the sight of him was killing him. His lips tremble and he shakes his head in an almost imperceptible way, as if he was fighting against something much stronger than him.

 

This man crawling in front of him reminds him too much of someone he knows, or he knew, he does not know. His brain is a swarming grave, a corpse eaten by worms and his memories are thin threads of light lost in an ocean. This hair as black as ravens' feathers, these eyes as blue as the morning rising. He knows them, he knew them, he knows it. The vision triggered something in him, but what? He frowns and suddenly all his soul hurts, it hurts like fire in his veins. He does not want to be there and he wants to run away, run to home, and run to the arms he knows, the chest that rises and falls under the pines.

He shakes his head again and he makes a move back, no he cannot do that, no it is impossible, no he will not. But he is pushed by a foreign force and his hand raises against his will and his evil side wakes, shouts monstrous words to him, fills his skull with bloody pictures scattered on his bones. He does not need to raise his head, he knows She is here, looking at him, pushing her darkness to him like a boat on rocks. He screams and lowers his weapon made of moonlight.

 

The man screams, and the blood spurts out of his chest like stars that appear when the night comes. He falls on the ground, the neon lights flashing black, red, orange, yellow, Wrath, Chaos, Hell, Damnation, Nothingness.

 

Jack turns his head and he sees Sarah from where he is and his hand reaches out to her and he can still feel her soft hair under his fingers, her honey smile under his mouth. Tears roll down his cheeks and he cries to the moon.

He lets a last breath escape and he falls into a bottomless abyss. He is gone.

 

The demon lets out a scream that freezes his blood and he jumps on the dead body, no it cannot end like that, it was too easy, to rapid, just like his breathing and his heart. He dives the blade back in the man's chest, and again and again but he does not move, just stares at him with faded blue eyes, wide open in horror. This eyes shake something in him and he screams louder, all his humanity exploding inside him, bloody little firework. He is nothing but a beast, a monstrous creature and he growls and he pushes all his weight on the corpse. He howls and presses his thumbs on the man's orbits, feel the moonlight colored irises bursting under his fingers, and blood surrounds them like gruesome seas.

 

He gets up and looks at the body, breathless. A real slaughter. A wolf could not have done better. He holds his breath, before he exhales deeply, until his lungs are empty of any doubt. The thrill of the kill, of taking an innocent life, fills him whole and it is a fresh, cleansing wave rushing through him. He closes his eyes and raises his head to the night.

 

His heart is empty, devoid of any emotion. He wishes he could cry and die with the man, right now on the tiles, illuminated by the moon, the neon lights colored by the Void, and like him, he wishes he could see the one he loves when he will breathe for the last time.

But now, his mind turns back to black and he sees nothing but Chaos. His brain is a battlefield, smokes, flags, mud, blood, rain. He clenches his jaw and lets the delicate feeling of being a monster make his home inside him.

 

 

** \--------------------------------------------- **

 

 

“Why didn't you take him?”

 

Dean blinks, chasing the fog in his head away, and turns to Amara, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” He asks, frowning.

 

The woman takes a sip of her whiskey that shines blood red under the lights and shifts on her seat. She points at the corpse near the water. “Him. You could have taken him for the night.” She says simply, shrugging.

 

He pouts and his eyes fall on his empty glass. He sighs and pours another one, and he does not know how many went before. “Yeah. I could have.” He answers, observing the water reflecting on the motel around the pool, soft shades of purple and blue dancing together under the night.

 

She has a confused look. “I saw you. You wanted him.” She says.

 

“I didn't.” He snaps, putting his glass down with a loud noise on the glass table. He turns to her, jaw clenched. “What's wrong with you?” He says, a low growl rising in his throat.

 

She narrows her eyes and the air grows colder around them. Her lips twitch into an acid curve, and Dean's heart has a distraught beat. “It's about the angel, isn't it?” She says, tilting her head to dive into his black soul.

 

He clenches his fists suddenly and he feels the poison rushing through his veins, screaming inside. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He whispers in a breath and his ribs hurt, like caressed by sandpaper.

 

“Don't lie to me.” She snaps and he jumps on his chair, the glass breaking in his hand. He winces when sharp slivers pierce his skin. He watches the blood flowing lazily in his palm and when he raises his head, he sees Amara staring at him without even blinking. “I saw your visions.” She says.

 

He swallows back the fear and the anger growing inside him. Yes, he has the freedom now, he can run where he wants and he can be who he really is. But this freedom feels like a leash, a rope around his neck and when he tries to push a little too far, it wraps itself tighter around his throat, making him unable to breathe. Sometimes, he is not even sure his thoughts are really his, that maybe one night She opened her brain and put some dark worms inside. Sometimes, he does not even feel like himself, like the one he used to be, or the one he is right now.

“It doesn't matter.” He says and he bites his tongue, feeling the blood flow in his mouth. Flashes illuminate his mind. Bright eyes, blinding smile, somber wings beating in the snow, fingers tied to his own. He wants to scream and toxic products seem to have replaced what is rushing in his veins.

 

“Yes it does.” Amara answers and her look darkens. “I thought you were over this.” She says and Dean sees her darkness touching his soul in thick ribbons of fog. He shivers.

 

“I am.” He answers and the lie rolls on his tongue. Wrath is electric in his flesh and he is nothing like the man that walked the streets a few weeks ago.

 

“I hear you talking in your sleep.” She says, and her eyes turn into swarming muddy ponds, bottomless brown oceans where ships sink, where men die.

 

He lowers his head and plays with a thread coming out of his t-shirt. The scent of this one is fading, but he can still perceive the hot woody aroma around the clothe, the one that once saw great black wings spread under the dull skies. At first, it was easy, all his madness was running free and he did not care about a thing. But nightmares appeared, haunting his mind at night with ghosts and bloody familiar faces.

 

It is always the same one. He is standing in the middle of a forest and he runs. Why does he run? He does not know but he does it anyway, like the Devil is following him, like there is fire under his bare feet. His breaths are quick and painful and his back is covered in cold sweat. He arrives in a bright clearing where the sun shines and he can see the specks of dust floating like gold. There is a cool breeze blowing and he feels suddenly better. He walks into this clearing and his soul is appeased. He sighs and suddenly his family is standing in front of him. Lightning strikes and burn the trees around them, turning them into tall beacons and he feels something warm at his feet. When he lowers his head, it is a river of blood flowing on the ground. When he looks at _them_ , they are all laying on the black soil covered of ashes. He falls on his knees and sobs strangle him. He sees his brother and Eileen, Charlie and Lucifer and his heart falls into pieces. He looks around and he sees **him**.

He is the only one still standing but at what price? His wings are nothing but bloody stumps, like some voracious animal ate them, bit them with sharp fangs. Long, tattered feathers hang from the white bones, miserable holy remains. He is staring at him with eyes colder than winter and Dean remembers his words every night.

_**You're a monster.** _

He screams his name until he wakes up with a start, all his body covered in sweat. He has to walk around the town for hours, and if the cold air does not soothe him, he has to bathe into innocent blood to erase these visions.

 

He shakes his head and looks at Amara. “I said it doesn't matter. They're nothing to me.” He says and he spits his venom at her.

 

She observes her nails and does not seem convinced at all. She raises her eyes to look at him. “You see, as I told you, I should trust you at any cost.” She stares at him and he moves, ill-at-ease. “But I don't. And I don't like it.”

 

“You can. I won't fail you.”

 

She gets up suddenly and starts walking to the pool, her marble features illuminated in soft pink, contrasting with the hardness of her face, her heels resonating around them. “You thought you were...” She has a little disgusted pout. “In love, or whatever that was with him. But it's not true. Love… love does not exist, it's a lie God created because humans were feeling lonely. It's a futile feeling, it leads you nowhere.” She turns suddenly to him, and he does his best not to show the emotions boiling inside him. “I must say, I'm disappointed of you, Dean. You have this… power inside you, a darkness that even I is jealous of, and you chose to love this… thing. This creature that was made to kill your kind, some hypocritical being that thinks it's better than the others because he crawled at God's feet.”

 

Tears of frustration rise to his eyes, and with every word she says, his soul screams a little louder. Deep down, he know she is the one who is lying, that his angel – _is the ghost he saw really an angel? Or is his mind starting to playing tricks to him? And God, he does not remember his name, he only sees eyes and wing_ _s_ – is nothing like that, he is a pure flame, a bird in the blue sky. But his mind is suddenly covered by a shroud when he tries to remember, when he tries to dig further into his skull, searching for gold.

She walks to him like a panther, dark and dangerous, and she stops right in front of him, her shadow weighing down on him. “If he is a problem, I can take care of him myself.” She says.

 

“Don't.” He answers and his heart is smashed under iron hands. He raises begging eyes to her. “Don't.” He repeats and she nods slightly.

 

“Alright,” She says with a satisfied smile. “In this case, follow me. I have something to show you.”

 

His evil soul shakes of excitement. “What is it?” He says, eyes shining in the night, like taken by a celestial fever.

 

“It's a surprise.” She murmurs as she leans to him. She does not touch him, but he still feels the electricity on her lips touching his own, and it is even more intimate than a kiss, a ghostly poison lingering on his mouth. Her fingers brush against his cheek and she steps back, smiling widely. “Now, follow me!” She says.

 

She walks to the small barrier, and he comes after her, his steps echoing in the dark. Before he leaves, he gives the place a last look. All their things are already in the car, and it is the last time he sees the motel. He started to grow fond of it, he liked the simple little details of it, the soft lights, the water dancing on the walls. He sighs and turns back to dive into the night.

 

They leave thirty warm corpses behind, all swimming in delicate blood.

 

**X**

 

They drove all night and a large part of the day. When Amara finally tells him to stop the car, the afternoon is starting to appear, and a pale sun smiles at them. Dean can feel the spring coming, he notices the subtle hints it leaves in the air, and he suddenly realizes the time that passed.

When did he leave his home? It could be weeks, or months, or even years and he would not know. Everytime he tries to remember, the night falls on his eyes and he has to take a minute, breathing heavily, the dark poison covering his brain, flowing in his veins.

 

He gives a look around. The city is rather huge, the crowd swarm like ants, and thousands of voices fill his ears, making him wince, exasperated. If only they could all close their mouths, all at once. If only he could make them.

 

His eyes fall on the Impala that shines like black oil has been poured over it, like the darkness kissed it with her poisonous lips. He sighs and lets his hand linger on the smooth surface, burning under the sun. He knows he used to love this car, but now he barely feels anything. He just wanders, following Amara obediently, and yes, he is having a lot of fun, he shivers everytime he takes a life and some weight has been pushed out of his chest. But at the same time, some rock got stuck in his throat and there is a feeling he cannot brush away, a worry growing inside him, keeping him awake at night, filling his head with doubts. And doubts can be lethal, when you are a soldier.

He is simply numb, blood thirst and anger are the only things he know now. Otherwise, he is an empty void, a deep abyss where wind blows. He observes the world moving, turning, screaming but it echoes inside him without even making him blink. Desire, a thing that moves all the hearts on this Earth, it is gone.

 

Car rides? _Pathetic_. Food? _Useless_. Alcohol? _Barely_ _bearable_. Sex? _Not_ _even_.

 

Sometimes he is standing somewhere, and the second after, he is in a different place. Just like now. He gives the restaurant a puzzled look, and he sees Amara smiling at him, her hand on his. He lost all his bearings, and time is nothing but a foggy idea. He knows she is playing with him and he is nothing but a puppet, but he does not have anything to hold on, to fight her. So he lets her do what she wants, and he stays in this bubble of comfort and loneliness.

 

When they leave, his body is heavy and the sun started to burn painfully on his head. He dives his hand in his jacket and takes a pair of sunglasses out. The black screens cover his cloudy eyes. _Better._

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and follows Amara. His rotten brain has a surprised jump when his fingers brush against a soft object in his pocket and when he takes it out, he sees a crumpled feather in his palm, tiny, crushed and black as night. He blinks, unsure, before he puts it back in his pocket, gently, knowing he could, _he should_ throw it away, but he just cannot, not right now.

 

Amara passes an arm under his and they walk side by side in the streets. He sees the looks people are giving them, as if they were creatures coming from the skies, or rather from the deepest circle of Hell. His eyes fall on some of them, but he does not feel a thing, not even the smallest spark inside him.

 

After an hour of walking, they come out of the town, facing large fields burned under the sun. In the middle, a barn made of black wood. He frowns at the horizon, head sore under the heavy sun, sweat turning his clothes thick and sticky on his back. “What are we doing here?” He asks, turning to Amara.

 

She has a thin smile that makes him shudder. “You'll see soon enough.” She answers, already walking to the building. He follows her, and his soul is already dreading what he could find inside.

 

She opens the tall door and gets inside the barn. Dean stops, takes his sunglasses off and narrows his eyes, trying to pierce the thick layer of darkness inside, in vain. He steps slowly inside and a heavy scent falls on him, and he coughs, his eyes watering in the dust.

When they get used to it to the dark, a silhouette starts to shape in his field of vision. Amara is standing in the back, but his attention is drawn to what is in front of her.

 

On a wooden chair, head falling on his chest, there is a man. Short strands of pale hair falls on his forehead, flattened on the skin by sweat. He seems to have a hard time breathing and when he hears Dean walking to him, he raises suddenly his head to look at him. His clear eyes dive into his, and something shakes in Dean. There is something electric, strange floating around him and when he narrows his eyes, he sees the soul pulsing around the stranger.

Fresh, blue, bright. A delicate pattern he once knew, but forgot.

 

Dean blinks and looks at Amara. “So?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, already feeling exhausted. At this time, he wishes he could find a motel and collapse on a clean bed and have a sleep without dreams for hours.

 

She walks slowly to him and her hand flutters, before it lands on the man's shoulder. He winces and turn his gray eyes to her, growling under his breath. He tries to move but his limbs are tied with thick rope that dives into his flesh, leaving red, cruel marks on his wrists.

“I need you to kill him.” She simply says.

 

He gives her an incredulous look. “Right now?” He asks and she nods slightly. “Why?” He adds, confused. He knows her, her love for destruction is beyond control, but she usually makes him kill more, like in the motel. So what did she find in this one man to walk for an hour under the awful sun?

 

Her eyes darken, shadows falling on him. “Because I ask you to.” She snaps and she passes by him, puts a hand on his arm, making him flinch. “I'm going to wait outside. We'll go when you'll be done.” She turns back and walks outside, before she raises her hands and the heavy door are slammed against each other, covering the two men of thick dusty darkness.

 

He turns to the stranger. In other circumstances, he would be shaking of excitement, but now, there is just something that bothers him. Amara did not choose this man in the crowd, at random. She picked it just for him, and this is what he does not understand. She is not interested in people if they are alone. She only sees the herd, the mass, the animals she has to get rid of. Not the one sheep that bothers him.

The man spits blood on the ground and looks at him. “Dean Winchester.” He says with a false joyful smile. “Pleasure to meet you.” He adds.

 

Dean frowns and gets closer. “How do you know my name?” He says, anger starting to boil inside and his soul rises above him, shapes into a cage above the man's head, ready to trap him like a rabbit. And Dean starts to feel the need of killing go off inside him like a bomb, and the hunt needs to begin **now**.

 

The man has a little laugh. “Well, everyone knows your name.” He leans to him, as if he was about to tell him a secret. “It's not like you and your girlfriend have been… discreet.” He says and Dean looks at him, confused. Strange kind of humor.

 

“We're not together.” He snaps as an answer, gritting his teeth.

 

“Sure.” The man answers with a smirk. “And I suppose you only play cards together?”

 

“Enough!” Dean shouts and his voice makes the man's smile fade suddenly, as he jumps slightly on his chair. “Why are you here?” He asks.

 

The man shrugs and moves on his seat. He raises his soft eyes to him and for the first time Dean sees fear swirling in them. “Well, there was this contest where you could win an afternoon being tortured to death, so I thought to myself _why not?_ ” He looks at Dean with a sarcastic smile. “What do you think?”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You've got quite a big mouth for someone who's about to die.” He says as he walks to the man, who freezes slightly when the demon's fingers touch his skin, as he unties the rope around his waist, wrists and legs. When he steps back, the man gives him a questioning look as he rubs his sore hands.

 

“Why are you doing this?” He asks and there is a familiar rustle around them. Dean looks around, already searching for hair as black as a crow's feathers but there is nothing in the barn except the two of them.

 

“Doing what?” He answers, drawing his attention back to the stranger.

 

“Killing all these people.” His eyes travel on Dean. “You don't look like a killer.” He says calmly and when he sees the demon staring at him, incredulous, he gives him a smile. “What?”

 

“You think you're going to escape like this?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes at him. “By being nice with me?”

 

He has a laugh. “Nah, I know I'm gonna die here. But well, _Sympathy For The Devil_ has always been my tune.” He says, still smiling despite the weight of his words.

 

Dean passes a hand in his hair, tiredness making his head heavy and full of dark thoughts. “Maybe I like it this way.” He says after a moment, and when he raises his eyes, he sees the man giving him a look full of pity.

 

“No, you don't.” He answers softly. “We all heard about your story, how you sacrificed your freedom to save your family. You're not here by choice.” He says and flashes illuminate Dean's mind, pieces of shattered memories exploding in his head, colorful drugs and liquors making the world spin around him, and reality is a blurry field around him.

 

Frustration rises in him and he clenches his fists. “What are you doing?” He mutters, eyes fixed strong on the stranger.

 

“Nothing. I'm just trying to make you remember.”

 

“I don't want to. I'm good like this.” Dean answers and he makes a step to the light haired man.

 

He gives him a knowing smile. “Really?” He walks to him, smirking, but his eyes are serious, old and full of despair. “Tell me you don't think about them everyday. The ones you killed, they haunt your dreams, you see them everywhere. Because that's not what you are, Dean, it's not **who** you are. You may be a demon, but you're not evil. You're as evil as I am.” He says.

 

“Stop it.” Dean growls and all the sympathy he felt for this odd stranger flies away.

 

The man keeps walking to him. “And I know it kills you, to be so far from your family. You think about them night and day and you wishes you could be with them. Everyday you spend alone is like a torture, but you know you have to follow her orders, or she'll kill them. You're paying their safety with your sanity.” He says, and there is not the smallest shadow of a smile in his voice anymore. “And I know you feel like dying.”

 

Dean makes a step and grabs his collar. The man's eyes open a little wider. “Who are you?” Dean mutters under his breath, shaking him violently. “Who sent you?!” He shouts.

 

“No one.” The man says calmly. “I just happened to be on your path. But if I can save you before it's too late, then I'll do it.”

 

Dean shakes his hand, frowns, and these words resonate in his head. He heard them one day, but they sound so strange, so far away. “I don't understand. Why would you do that?!” He shouts and pushes the man far away from him.

 

“I can't let her destroy what my Father created. I know you can kill her, but not like that. Right now, you feel useless, powerless, _used_. But if you could only remember what you lost-”

 

Dean's fist flies into the air and the man takes the blow in his jaw like a wave coming down on him. The violence of the gesture makes him fall on the floor.

“I don't want to remember!” Dean screams and hundreds of voices scream with him. “I was tired of hiding who I was! Now I can do whatever I want and there's no one to stop me!” He gives the man another punch, as this one started to get up again. “My family was holding me back, and I couldn't take a damn breath because of them!”

 

He punctuates every word with a thump. The man's face is soon turned into a gruesome bloody painting and Dean can hear his heavy breathing as he leans to him, but he stops when his odd enemy has a little laugh that shakes all his sore body. Dean gives him an intrigued look.

“What?” He asks, hand curled up into a ball still raised in the air.

 

The man shakes his head and spits some blood on the ground, dark bruises spreading on his skin. “You should be ashamed.” He mutters and his eyes dive into Dean's. “After everything he did for you…” His irises are full of contempt and wrath, throwing lightning at the demon.

 

Dean frowns and he holds his breath. “What are you talking about?” He murmurs, doubt growing inside him.

 

As an answer, the man shakes his shoulders a little, and the air seems to glimmer behind him. The second after, a pair of wide wings flap behind him. They are entirely black, except for the tip that is as white as snow. Before he can realize, Dean is laying on his back, the angel pushing all his strength on him, sitting on his stomach.

“My brother saved you from Hell, despite everything we told him! He fell for you, he gave up everything for you, and that's how you thank him?” He tilts his head, celestial anger swirling inside his storm colored eyes. “Just imagine his reaction if he was there.” His look is hard, cold and Dean represses a sob. The angel gets suddenly up and he steps back, wings half spread behind him, giving Dean a disappointed look.

 

Dean jumps on his feet and takes the blade that was hanging on his waist. “I know what you're doing.” He says. “But you can't bring me back now, I've made my choice and I won't change my mind.”

He jumps on the angel, and this one steps aside, trying to avoid him, but he is too slow. Dean falls heavily on him, and he is pinning him on the cold ground with all his evil weight, his blade pointed at his chest. The man looks at him and blood flows from his nose, falls on his lips. “Yeah, he would be proud of the soul he saved… Holding hands with the source of all evil, murdering the creation of our Father.” He says, his nails diving into Dean's arms.

 

“I don't care!” Dean shouts. “I don't care about what he is thinking!”

 

“Oh, really?” The angel spits. “Then, try this!” He shouts, and puts his palm on Dean's shoulder.

 

The visions explode in his mind and Dean has a cry of suffering. They are brief, but powerful enough to blind him. He only sees a few glimpses of them but it is enough to rip his heart apart.

He sees a dark haired man walking the streets alone, his head held low, and he knows wings are hanging on the ground behind him. He sees him having a weak smile, he sees his swollen red eyes full of tiredness. He sees him arriving at a motel they stopped by a few days ago, his blue irises opening wide when he opens door after door, finds dead bodies after dead bodies. His soul howls when he sees the angel collapsing near a pool illuminated by neon lights, his weakened body shaken by awful sobs, his tears mixed with the soft purple water.

 

He is suddenly back to reality and he takes a deep, painful breath. The angel is still under him, and he looks at him, hope shining in his eyes. Dean is panting and he needs to blink a few times so his vision gets clear and bright again. An acid feeling shakes his stomach and the world spins around him.

“He's a mess. You destroyed him.” The man says and he moves under Dean, pushing his soul against his, causing another sound of suffering from the demon. “And you wanna know the worst?” The angel whispers, his lips covered of blood. Dean stares at him, eyes wide open of horror. “He's still in love with you.” He spits and Dean's heart shatters in thousands pieces.

 

“Stop.” He whispers without any strength. “Don't use him against me. You don't have the right.”

 

The man smiles at him, a smile without joy. “He hunts high and low for you, but you're just like Sleep. You disappear when we try to catch you.” He stops, and pity circles in his eyes. “He will fight for you until you die.” He looks at Dean, and the demon breaks apart. “Or rather until _he_ dies.”

 

It's too much. Dean's inner fire shines suddenly brighter and he cannot hold his evil wrath anymore. He gets up and takes the angel by the collar of his jacket, before he throws him across the barn. His body falls heavy on the ground and he has a muffled scream. Dean walks to him and his eyes snap to black, cruel, cold, empty. Before the angel can turn around, he sits on his back, keeping him from moving. The edges of his vision is blurry, tainted of red, pulsing. A low growl started to fill his throat and he breathes heavily. One of his hand flutters above the angel's wings, and when it lands on the limb, the creature shivers violently and tries to roll on his back, but he holds it firmly, it is his prey now, his trophy, a delicate fruit he must bite in to feel life again.

 

His fingers grip the feathers and the angel has a strangled cry of fear. “What are you doing?” He whispers and his voice is tainted of terror.

 

Dean screams and the angel screams with him when the demon starts ripping feather by feather, picking them up like petals on a dark rose. He wishes he could stop but it is like his body is controlled by something else, something that is not his heart, but something buried deeper inside him.

He rips the feathers apart and they fall on the ground, bloody, broken. The angel screams until his throat is sore and he cannot make any sound, but miserable little whines strangled by bright tears. Dean's claws dig into his back, turning it into a shred, into a red sea and the blood flows and flows lazily on his hands. When he cannot break the bones with his hands, he takes his blade and dives it into the flesh, murdering the grace with his dirty weapon. The angel is barely moving and Dean could think he is dead if he was not feeling his weak breathing under him. The wings are nothing more but gruesome stumps hanging from the man's back and when Dean moves to put it on his back, he does not even scream. He looks at him with cloudy eyes and the pain turned them into oceans of madness and despair.

 

Dean looks at his hands covered of celestial blood, short black feathers filling his palms. Suddenly, the angel's face changes and it is two bright blue eyes that stare at him without blinking, dark hair made of the blackest night, and warm hands that try to reach out to him, whispering his name as he breathes for the last time.

 

When Amara enters the building hours after, she finds him rocking on the ground in some corner, drowning in tears. In his mind, he chants the same name again and again, and it drives him crazy. She gives the body a satisfied look before she starts caressing his hair soaked in sweat and sorrow, and her lips fly to his ear. “You passed the test.” She whispers.

 


	12. Feels Like Hell

 

**Week One: Denial**

Castiel lays awake, listens to the night moving, whispering around him. He is completely alone, more alone than ever, and even the darkness refuses to carry his pain with him. The stars up above shine with a pale glow, and their light is cold, cruel, and does not bring him any comfort. The wind blows outside, shakes the thin walls of his home, home that became glacial and frightening. He crawled into bed to bury his body in the cold sheets and his fists grip them tightly. The tears want to roll on his cheeks, but it just feels like he is empty, like he is a river dried up and that not a single tear will flow.

He is perfectly alone and yet there is this presence, this spectral silhouette standing next to him, following him everywhere he goes, and its fingers brush against his skin, his lips fly to his ears and murmur sweet lullabies that make him shiver in his sleep. There is this ghost haunting him, and he sees it everywhere, each step he takes is like a pain exploding in his heart and the ghost stares at him blankly, it does not even try to help him getting up again. His wide, dull, faded eyes are fixed strong on him, without blinking.

 

Since _he_ left, Castiel did not sleep for an entire night. The first days, he stood up outside, listening to the sound of the woods, the trees chanting under the breeze. He listened carefully, hoping he would hear a familiar voice, feel a familiar soul touching his. Once, he heard steps far away, and he ran, ran until his lungs were ablaze, until they shined of pain like beacons. He stopped in the middle of the forest, breathless and his legs threatened to give up under him. He looked around and the pines rustled around him, nearly mocking him with a cold laugh that soaked him in icy tears. He fell on his knees and did not move for hours, hoping his black star would find its way back to him, that a tall, strong silhouette would emerge out of the woods and take him in its arms, and tell him all of this was just an awful dream. A dream made by heartless angels with silver steel eyes.

But nothing appeared, not even the smallest spark in the skies. The shock hit him in his stomach and he stayed there for a moment, bent in half, holding his ribs, the suffering making him unable to breathe. The night came closer around him and he could move, his breaths short and painful like red clouds in the air. That was not be happening, it was impossible. He would wake up the next morning and _he_ would be there, smiling widely at him with all his teeth, a blinding warm sun that would fill the gap in his chest again, and soft arms would surround his waist and draw him closer and he would breathe into the purest gold, he would drown in the wildest shade of green. He would laugh and he would smile and he would sing to the stars and he would love under the heavy moon. All of this was a terrible mistake, a cold product of his imagination, a torturous electricity running through his brain, making him see things that were not here. He would take a deep breath and inhale the forest air, make it fill his poor lungs and he would count to ten, he would think of all the galaxies around him, of all the void in between and he would open his eyes.

 

And nothing would change. Strangled sobs would rise in his throat and he would start praying, start begging the skies that saw his birth to give him his dark light back. He would tell them he needs it like he needs to breathe, like he needs to live. That they could not take it away from him once again, that the first time was enough pain inflicted to their offspring.

But they would remain silent, their lips of ice sealed by bloody threads and they would step back into the dark of the night, leaving him alone. He would get up and he would go back to his home, if home meant anything, anymore. He would collapse on this bed of thorns and he would let the black thoughts invade his mind, shout the terrible Truth to him. And he would press his hands on his ear and try to make the voices go away, but he cannot stop them. Because they are not around him, they are _inside_ him. He would get up again and lay down again, all in the same endless circle of insanity and his bare feet would burn under him. He would curl up into a ball on the ground and listen to the birds singing the morning's rising, and his wings would fold even tighter around him, as if this wide celestial shield could protect him from the despair coming.

 

He would get up and go outside and run the woods once again, shouting _his_ name to the trees, asking them where he would go. The trees would not answer and he would run and fly, ignoring the pain spreading like a fire on his feathers and he would walk until the sun appear on the horizon, until his skin itches and his feet and wings bleed. He would wander a little longer before he sits in front of the house, staring into space, faded eyes on green covered by snow. He would watch his world crumble at his feet. The days would pass, all the same, blurry, heavy, soapy. He would sigh until he is empty. Emptier than the space between stars.

 

 

**Week Two: Confusion**

Castiel stands in the middle of the room and his hands are raised in the air, but he does not know why. He looks around and he is completely lost. Where is he? What is he doing here? What is this heavy weight on his shoulders? And most of all, what is this hot feeling on his chest that seems to never go away?

 

He freezes where he stands and the world spins around him. It is a whirlwind of colors and sensations, cold and hot, rough and soft, dull and bright and it hits him like an iron fist in his stomach, and he cannot breathe anymore. He gives the visions a look and his eyes burn as if he was crying tears of acid, green fluorescent liquid flowing on his cheeks already scarred by the grief that happened before.

He blinks and he tries to remember. What was he about to do? He looks at the ground and sees a plate shattered at his feet, tiny white pieces scattered everywhere. He leans and picks one in his fingers. The sharp edges cut his skin and he drops it hastily as if it burned him. What is this burning sensation in his flesh, what is this red river rolling on his hands, crashing on the floor in small neat drops? He does not know it, it is a foreign wind brushing against him, or rather pushing him, pulsing under his fingertips.

And what is this thing beating in his chest, roaring louder every second? Is it really necessary, all this noise? Could not it be a little quiet for once? Why does it have to hurt him so bad when he asked for nothing?

 

Among the threads of smoke rising in front of his eyes, there are small paintings, beautiful works, odd art created by the bird beating its wings behind his ribs. He sees wide green fields, like emeralds that had be thrown on the ground one morning, shining under the soft dew. Wait, it is not a field, the camera moves back, and so does he. He steps back and steps back and he is out of the long gentle grass that tickled his ankles. He is just a breath away from them but he is not _into_ them anymore. He blinks and there are small brown stars shining on a pale canvas. He blinks again and his fingers raise and when they land on a soft skin, he has a surprised cry. The wide green seas move like waves and shape into amused crescents, and a joyful sound fills the space around him.

 

He suppose it is a laugh but he cannot be sure, not when his mind is so strange even to himself. It is like a drug fell down from the skies, covered him, soaked him in a shiny bright rain. The sound gets louder, happier, it is a candid breeze moving around him and Castiel does not recognize the emotion piercing through it. It seems so far away, so odd. Beyond control, his own lips curl into the ghost of a smile. The memories come, soothing and warm, and he let them enfold him. His wings open a little, like caressed by a silky wind.

Two strong arm wrap themselves around his waist and he is held against a chest that rises and crashes like the sea. He closes his eyes and lets his imagination take control on his body. He feels suddenly so tired, so heavy, and letting the madness in feels way easier than keeping his mind away from it. His insomnia turned him into a pale ghost and if he can ease the sorrow just a little bit, then he is ready to jump in the flames right now, right here.

 

The memories moves and shifts in his arms, uncomfortable. Castiel wraps his own arms tighter around the foggy silhouette and he holds it closer, despair starting to grow inside. His dreams are all he has now, he cannot let them go away, no they belong to him, they cannot run away. The harder they try to escape, the harder he squeezes them in his hands. They start to complain dully, threatening him to vaporize in the cold winter air, but he does not listen.

He buries his head deeper in this chest and his knuckles turned white, sore, numb just like his dead heart. The wind blows outside and suddenly the fog in his arms explodes, slips away in thin ribbons and he opens wide terrorized eyes, trying to catch them and bring them back together. But they crawl back in the deepest pit of his skull and he wishes he could dig in his bones with his fingernails, rip the flesh and blood apart to dive into his grace and find _him_ again.

He scratches his skin until he feels the blood drips under his fingers and he falls on the floor, sits there and stares at the wooden walls as if they were holding the answer. The Universe turns so slow around him, he can almost feel every star, every planet breathing with him.

 

He sits for hours, maybe days in his cloudy field of thoughts, in some sort of heavy stupor. It is like a cancer is growing inside him, like an animal is living in his stomach and eats him whole from the inside, dives his teeth into his flesh and rips long blood threads out of him. He just stares into the Great Empty and lets the stars shine above his head, lets them cry their white milky tears as they fall softly on him.

 

 

**Week Three: Anger**

Castiel observes his halo in the mirror. It is a cloudy, dull gray shape floating around his head, a storm slowly turning. It is ready to thunder, to let the rain pour down on him with a deafening sound, lightning striking around him. He can see the thin electric threads moving around his face, diving into his eyes, giving him a look full of madness. His hair looks like a crow made its nest in his brain, his cheeks grew hollow, shadows started to cover them.

In this moment, he does not look like himself. He looks like a ghost, an apparition wandering in the foggy graveyards, light steps shyly hitting the ground. But most of all, he looks like his personal ghost, the one that is gone for now three weeks. It is the same expression, the same emptiness he saw in _his_ eyes when he came back after running away. The same despair, the same love for darkness and sweet bitterness. Except the hope and joy is nowhere to be seen, he is devoid of any bright color. His soul floats around him like a rock tied to him and he has to drag him like a heavy weight, causing him to wince of pain everytime. He collapses again on that bed that smells like sweat and tears and he aches.

 

The guilt, the terrible guilt grows inside him. Because he now knows what _he_ felt when he ran away that one fateful night. In this moment, his soul and the remains of the one that once slept in these sheets collide together. He feels the pain, the anger, the despair, the rage, the sorrow, the loneliness. It all comes rushing through him like a devastating sea and his lungs are filled with dark waters. He falls on his knees and bows before the strength of his emotions. He feels guilty for leaving, because he should have been thankful. After all the years he passed without his warm light, he should have been more careful and stayed by its side as much as possible. But he ran, because his heart howled of fear in front of such a profound feeling and it hid in the depths of his chest, weighing down on his lungs. He ran and he feels like a coward, a traitor, a monster for causing so much pain, when all he wanted was the end of this acid emptiness.

He feels guilty for leaving his family, for pretending he had to share this agony alone. He may be suffering, but what about Sam? He spent years of his life thinking he was alone, and he endured so much on his own only to see the only remain of his old life fading away God knows where. His brother, the closest thing he ever had is now gone with the wind and the separation must be even more difficult to bear.

 

Castiel's guilt is poisoning, it eats him slowly bite by bite at day and devours him avidly at night. And like it was not enough, the anger pulses inside him. He wants to scream it to the forest and calls his love back, wants to hit him and breaks his soul like he did to him. He wants to feel the bones breaking under his hands and he wants to feel the tears and apologies melt in his fingers. He thinks of such a violence, he shudders and the sorrow grows even bigger. Its hands surround his throat and it looks at him right in the eyes, diving its whirlwinds inside him and it spits pity on his face, but Castiel chases it away and dives back into the awful dark feeling, rather than facing the blue one waiting for him.

He wants to scream to the one he loved and take him by his shoulders, shake him with all his strength. He wants to push him on the ground and he wants to collapse against him, frame his skull with his hands, dive his claws into his flesh, make him suffer like he is suffering right now. He wants to see the bruises growing like flowers on his skin and he wants to see his fingerprints tattooed on his throat. He wants to push all his soul against him and turn him into nothing more than a miserable speck of dust.

 

He could have helped him, but he had to play the hero, the fearless knight, the brave soul sacrificing himself for the sake of others. Why did not he listen to him? Why did he have to leave? Why did he have to abandon him, crush him under his feet like the soil that covers this Earth?

 

Castiel screams into the empty space around him and the furniture flies across the room, crashes against the walls, explodes like fireworks. The lights above him flicker and his anger burns hot around him, shapes into red ribbons that pierce the cold air, makes the forest shiver and the day fade away. The night falls on him, on his eyes, on his mind. He clenches his fists and hits the ground where he landed years ago. His wings beat furiously, creating storms around him. He blinks and fire covers the trees, and he watches them crackle loudly before they fall, great, majestic, like celestial beings. Flames illuminate his irises taken by a madness, a fever that swallows him whole.

He ignores the familiar voices that call him into the night, beg him to come back. He ignores them when fists knock at his door and bright souls beg him to answer them. He ignores them like he ignores the sunrise and the sunset, like he ignores every details of the Earth he once loved. He does not deserve this pain, not after everything he has done. He does not deserve the feeling that consumes him.

 

The hatred roots deeper inside him every day and his blood turns into acid.

 

 

**Week Four: Realization**

He is laying on his bed as usual when it hits him. _He_ is never going to come back.

 

He sits right and something awful takes his breath away. The anger crawls away, afraid of a feeling much stronger than it. The waves of pain lash him like a fragile boat and he starts to shake under the shock. No, it cannot be. No, no he did not lose him. He gets up and grips his hair, turning around in the empty room, the air getting thick and dirty in his lungs, pure dust filling him violently and he trembles, bloodshot eyes wide open. He stops breathing and the world starts spinning around him.

 

He lost _him_. Once again. Like once was not enough. Once again, he lost himself into a dangerous feeling and once again it is breaking him apart. He let human things control him and now he is nothing but an empty shell shaking under emotions that feel foreign, hard, cold, merciless, cruel. He feels bloodless and when he runs to the mirror again, he sees his skin turning as white as the snow that started melting outside.

He holds on his reflection and his mouth opens a little, taken by shock. Who is this man staring back at him behind this dirty layer of glass and diamonds? And why is crying? Why are his wings falling behind him, them that saw the greatest battles of this Universe?

 

He let anger control him and he bites his lips to swallow the guilt back. How could he feel something like this? After all, it was his fault. Entirely his fault. He fought and howled, blade in hand, and smote his enemies, and he flew like a bird made of silver and stardust in the blue skies, and he lived behind the golden Gates of Heaven, and yet he was powerless. He let _him_ slip away, and it was like watching water flow between his fingers. He let _him_ jump into the dark and he could not catch him, and _he_ hit the ground, bones, flesh, veins crushed under the wind. He watched _him_ fade away and he watch the insanity spread on his soft features like a disease even his grace could not heal.

He spent days denying the Truth or boiling of rage, he spent all his days walking in a red fire and it suddenly left, as if the veil covering his eyes disappeared. He has no memory of it, except for the bumps and bruises the darkness rushing through him created on his skin. He spent days with a mind as foggy as a field during a winter morning but now, he realizes.

 

He is never going to see _him_ again. Never in this lifetime, never in the next one. And it is destroying him slowly, but surely. Like a mirror thrown on the ground, breaking in slow-motion. He will live for eternity, he will see the world burn and scream and suffer, and he will watch it being rebuilt again. He will see the waters rise and fall and the volcanoes spits their poison on cities, and he will see the sun getting closer every day. But he will see it alone. He will spend the rest of his days on his own, and everything he created these past months turned to dust. The joy, the hope, it is gone and he will need years, if not centuries to rebuild something that looks like life again.

 

He blinks. And realizes he already lost the taste of Life. It is not like a castle that crumbled down and that can be fixed with time and patience. Life is like a star, it pulses softly in a heart of warmth and someday, it explodes with colors and glitter. It leaves something beautiful, something as poetic as death and grief but it cannot be undone. He blinks, chases the tears away. For a minute, he forgot the feeling of being with _him_ , and he saw the future. But when it hit him again, he realized there was none.

The eternity, he does not want it. He can bear it alone, but not without _him_. He can face a lifetime of loneliness, because he already survived it. But he cannot face a lifetime where his only light, the reason his heart is still beating, is gone. Yes, he is not dead, he is more than alive, the darkness rushing through his veins like a storm. But it feels like he is running on the ground of another planet, another Universe. He is on the same Earth and breathes the same air but they could not be more separated. He became a stranger again, and it feels like a dagger of ice in Castiel's heart.

He already lived this once and he thought he would not survive. But he did, he fought for life and he let the rain wash these celestial memories away. But now that he tasted the real feelings, the ones he could hold in his arm, the ones that were flesh and blood and bones, he could never live again after that, never the same way. Now, Life is tasteless, dull, faded like an old painting forgotten in a dusty attic. Especially when he remembers _his_ words, telling him he would never come back, even if _he_ could. He blinks and his heart aches.

 

He realizes the pain will never go away, and he will never get up again after that. That he lived too much to forgot. The feeling of these hands, these eyes, this soul on his skin will never leave his mind and the suffering is just beginning. He realizes he lost him once again, and this time, it is for good. And he will have to face the dreadful eternity knowing he is still somewhere on this Earth, just not with him. And this selfish thought swallows him whole.

 

 

**Week Five: Sorrow**

The tears finally come. One night, he wakes up with a start and he sits for a moment, breathless, searching for the parts of his brain that exploded all across the room. His mind turned into thin threads he has to pull to him again, one by one, after a nightmare that left him cold and bloodless. He was running the woods, bare feet barely touching the soil, and he was running from something, and to the exact same thing. He was screaming a name until his throat was filled with orange flames. He saw the silhouette in front of him and he tried to reach out to him, but everytime his fingers brushed against the fabric of _his_ clothes, it faded out and reappeared several feet away, endlessly.

 

He sits on his bed, his hands gripping the white sheets and something cold rolls on his skin. He raises his head to look at the ceiling, thinking the rain must had found a way to get in, and he hears the regular lapping of the drops falling on his windows. But he is perfectly safe, the house is still warm and protected by soft spells. He raises a shaking hand to his face and it lands on his cheek and it touches something wet and soft like honey. He looks at his fingers and sees a shiny pearl, a small drop rolling before it crashes down on his lap. He frowns and the rain keeps falling on him, as if one single dark cloud shaped above his head.

 

It begins softly, like a misty rain. The water falls gently inside him and fills him tenderly, sorrow drop by drop in this celestial champagne glass. And suddenly he is overflowing, his mind spitting dark waters at his feet, his burning eyes melting under the heavy feeling. He suffocates and he holds on the reality around him, on the shelves, the walls, the vines, the black flowers, the night coming from the windows. He breathes in and breathes out but nothing helps him, nothing can save his damned soul now.

Suddenly, the emotion grows, blooms, pushes his bones to create some space for its cursed offspring. He coughs and puts a hand on his heart, making sure it is still here, making sure it did not leave him just like everything else. But no, it is still here, beating furiously, angrily, howling at him with teeth and claws. The water spits out of his eyes like a clear poison and he tries to wipe it away, but if just flows and flows in an endless circle of torture.

 

He curls up into ball on the mattress, holds his knees against his chest, tries to be as small as possible like a weak newborn. He tries to breathe again but something heavy fell on his lungs, as if a whole mountain rose among his ribs.

He shakes in the night's light and he clenches his fists, as if he could grip the feeling in his palm, strangle him until it dies and falls at his feet. A static noise started to fill his ears and he winces of pain. The tears keep falling as if his eyes were the skies and the rain could not stop pouring down on his broken heart.

 

Each breath he takes feels like a hard hot blow in his chest and he grits his teeth, keeping the sea of blood that boils in his mouth from flowing out of his lips that turned white. He feels sick, he feels crazy, he feels desperate. He realizes he did not enjoy the short time he spent with _him_. He should have savored the taste of the days he spent by _his_ side, and he should have written every touch in his veins, to never forget them. He should have carved his love into his bones, for the guilt now breaks them, crushes them under steel boots.

The painful sobs strangle him with delicate, cruel fingers made of ice and he feels like dying. He cannot bear the awful beating of his own heart. He surrounds himself a little more with his wings, and God, as if his ache was not cold enough, he sees the tattered feathers and the bones that did not have enough time to heal. When _he_ disappeared, he flew without being careful and now every speck of his grace regrets it. When he fell, his wings were the last thing he had, but now that he feels like he hit the hard ground once again, he has nothing to hold onto anymore.

 

He cries like a miserable, selfish children and there is suddenly a soft touch on his cheek. He raises his head to see Lazarus who licks his tears gently. His wide dark eyes look like two voids where Castiel can see rare shooting stars. There is an odd sadness in his animal irises, a genuine grief when he buries his wolf head in Castiel's chest.

Castiel lays again and he holds the dog close against his heart, like the last remain of his happiness. The beast soon falls asleep, exhausted of so much suffering and black electricity running in the air.

 

But Sleep denies him, spits on him. His eyes are wide open and he counts the seconds that pass, the beats of his heart, the pine needles falling one by one outside. This was only the beginning of a long series of different emotions, a storm worsening each day. He knows something bigger is coming, even if he wishes it could just stop right now. He does not even know if he is capable of surviving. After all, what living being could exist on this Earth without the sun? Because right now, he drowns in an endless night.

 

 

**Week Six: Despair**

He looks at the blade shining in his hands, cold silver spark. How easy would it be to dive it in one motion in his chest and let the small atoms explode around him in a blow of light? How easy would it be to slice his wrists and watch the blood and grace flow away? How easy would it be to stop fighting and just let Sleep enfold him?

 

He clenches his jaw. Never in his whole existence he thought so much about Death. It started many years ago when he realized the one he loved was now a stranger, but he never cared much about these dark thoughts. But now, it haunts him. Every morning feels like a curse, a torture he did not ask for, a torture inflicted by the cruelest angels in the skies, the one with eyes as hard as marble. He wishes he could just close his eyelids one evening and never come back, because he is nothing but a coward and he would never try to feel enough pain to fall into darkness. Once again, he runs away from what is waiting for him.

 

He observes the blade and takes a deep breath, holds the weapon against his heart like a lover, like a cursed talisman. He looks at his wings behind him, black knives framing his face in the mirror. He wishes he could rip them with sharp claws, see them turning into a bloody puddle at his feet and he would bury the broken feathers in the forest. He wishes he could wash his skin with bleach, erase all this scent that floats around him like a ghost. He wishes he could wash everything the demon touched. Including himself. His arms, his wings, his heart, everything his evil light ever landed hands on.

He swallows down and his own reflection scares him to death. He looks like a dead man that crawled from his grave, and moss and worms are still following him like an ironic, cruel cortege. He is nothing but a shadow, a monster of bones and pale skin, an apparition among the tombstones. He raises his blade and he watches the weapon throws silver lights on his face. He would look beautiful in Death. He would probably look peaceful. Nothing could be worse than what he is feeling right now.

 

He lets the tip of the knife wander on his arm and it is so sharp it leaves a red mark behind it. But he does not wince, he does not flinch. He deserves this pain, he deserves to know what is it like to suffer like this. When you love someone, you protect them at any cost, even if it is with your own life. But what did he do? He let _him_ fade away somewhere in the wild and did not move, did not scream. He let Destiny do its job. So, maybe after all, he did not deserve the love that was given to him. Maybe he deserves this ache, this loathing he feels about Life now.

Driven by a cold, morbid curiosity, he raises a hand to his wing and pull on one of the short feathers, just to see what is it like. There is a soft twinge in the curve, but nothing more. He clenches his jaw and decides it is not enough. His vision flashes red and suddenly, his thoughts are not his anymore. It is like they belong to some broken, empty being wandering in an icy desert. It is with the numbest mask that he rips the feather out of his flesh. He barely flinches when a soft pearl of blood form and he looks at this black remain of grace in his palm.

 

Before, he would be amazed of his own body and he would protect his wings at any cost. But now, he just does not care. They are useless, they are pathetic. He is a creature coming from the stars and he saw worlds rise and fall, but he cannot even find one demon on this Earth. What is the point of being celestial if it cannot help him in any way? He suddenly feels like a pretty painting that would shine in its museum and amaze the souls around, but would never be anything more than some colors thrown into space. All his being is useless. Even his heart is the weakest jewel of the crown, a fragile ruby that broke the second he saw his demon. Now, he realizes it must be another rule of his Universe: the faded souls, the ones that are meant to be as fragile as glass since they are born, they are always the ones falling for the cold, hard hearts that will make them suffer and bleed all their lives.

 

He is a thin porcelain cup in the hands of a careless child that observes his soft features, before he starts playing with him, and turns him around, throws him in the air, rocks him with heavy arms until he suffocates, before he drops it on the hard floor and he breaks, and shatters, and screams.

 

He presses the feather in his palm and his face is distorted by pain and anger. His lungs are caught in a vice between these two feelings and he hardly breathes. He lets the blade wander again on his arms and thin ribbons of blood flow lazily. He barely blinks and sits on the floor, lost into space. Lazarus walks slowly next to him and his eyes are full of compassion. His head nudges Castiel's arm and he starts licking his wounded skin, but the angel's soul pushes him roughly and the dog moves back, ears flattened on his head, giving him a hurt look. Castiel immediately feels guilty and he sighs, watching the red liquid escape his veins. He could heal the cuts now, but he just does not see _why_ he would do that.

 

He has a long sigh full of suffering when the walls shake. He raises his head and heavy knocks move the wooden door. He holds his breath and he takes his blade, worry growing inside him when a familiar voice resonates in his ears.

“Castiel, you're going to open this damn door, right now!”

 

The angel gets up, puzzled and opens the door in a wide move. A tall silhouette with clear angry eyes fills the door frame, illuminated by the morning light, and a golden soul pulses around it, trembling of wrath. Castiel narrows his eyes, searches in his memory. “Sam?”

 

The man pushes him and gets inside the room, his aura spinning around him like a hot galaxy. He turns to him like a human storm. “I've been trying to reach you for weeks! Why didn't you answer?!” He shouts and Castiel jumps. He spent so much time alone he does not even remember what it is like to have somebody by his side, filling the silence with noises and words.

 

He lowers his head, ashamed, dancing on his feet. “I'm sorry.” He murmurs, one of his hands gripping his arm, as if he was trying to enfold himself. It is only there that he realizes the blood is still running free on his skin and his palm is soon soaked of red.

 

The tall man follows his look and his eyes widen a little when he sees the wounded flesh. He walks to him and he takes his wrists gently in his hands. He frowns before he looks back at Castiel. “What is this…?” He whispers, letting his words flow around them, something heavy getting stuck on his throat, a shiny rock of astonishment.

 

Castiel bites his lips and shifts, ill-at-ease. “Nothing. I'm OK.” He mutters, moving back to escape Sam's grip.

 

The man gives him a worried look and steps closer. “You don't look OK.” The angel avoids his eyes and moves back, again, trying to escape the concern in Sam's voice, thinking he does not deserve it. The man takes a deep breath and puts a warm hand on his shoulders. “You're coming with me. We'll talk about it at my place.” He says.

 

Castiel shakes his head. “Sorry I can't.” He answers, letting threads of grace filling the gaps on his arms. Soon, the scars are fading away, only leaving pink ribbons on his skin, but still hurting inside.

 

Sam moves and Castiel sees all his soul pushed against him like a warm sea of gold surrounding him, and for a moment, he feels better, lighter, brighter, as if the heavy stone on his heart had been pulverized. Sam does not even see auras and yet, he knows how to use it, as if his kindness was a simple reflex, a part of his personality like the stars are a part of the night sky. He cannot exist without it. It is what he is, in the deepest pit of his gentle soul.

“Listen, Cas.” He says and the angel flinches when he hears this short syllable making this familiar snapping sound. He did not hear it for so long, he almost forgot it. And a soft pain starts to appear again, like a light in a foggy field, far away in his chest. “You know what Dean said to me before he left?” Sam asks and the name rolls on his tongue, tainted of melancholy and suffering, only causing another shiver from Castiel, and another blow of blinding light behind his ribs. “He told me to watch over you.”

 

Castiel raises his eyes to look at him, but his vision is already getting blurry, his blue irises swimming in dangerous clear seas. “What?” He blurts.

 

“Do you even realize how much you mean to him? If you saw him when you left for a month, you wouldn't be so surprised.” Sam answers, and Castiel opens wide eyes, shaking. “He told me to watch over you and I promised I would. I called you and I came here every day – and I know you heard me – but you never answered. Now, what do you think he would say if he saw what I did with my promise?” He shakes his head. “I lost my brother when I thought I finally found him again. I'm not going to let you down too.”

 

“Sam, you don't have to do this. I should be the one caring about you. He is your brother.” Castiel says and he lets his grace fly to Sam, wrapping itself around his tired head.

 

“And so what?” Sam snaps back. “Pain is pain. It doesn't matter if I have the same blood and you don't. You love him and this, this is the only thing that really matters. I'm never gonna say it's harder for me than for you. Do you understand?” He says in a softer way.

 

Castiel nods slightly and he exhales deeply, emptying his lungs of any emotion. “I'm sorry I didn't answer you. I thought I was the only one in pain and…. And that was foolish.” He raises his eyes to Sam, whose head seems to carry a shiny halo of softness. “I'm so sorry.” He repeats.

 

Sam gives him a tired, weak smile. “It's OK. I guess none of us had a real night of sleep, right?” He asks gently.

 

Castiel has a fragile laugh. “I don't even remember the last time I ever had something real.” He says and he realizes the weight of his words. Sam must have suffered the same torture as him, and not once he found the courage to open his door. He just sat in silence and nothingness, not realizing the world was still turning around him.

 

Sam gives him another knowing smile. “C'mon, you have to eat something warm and get some rest. It's one thing I can do for you.” He starts walking to the door, his gentle swollen eyes fixed on the angel. “Besides, I'm not the only one who was worried about you.” He says and colorful visions appear behind Castiel's eyelids. _Bright red head and warm dark eyes and_ _faded white wings._

 

He does not try to protest and follows the stream of this gentle golden river that wraps itself around his sore bones. He gives the place a last look, and takes a deep breath, not sure if he is ready to face the world again. Especially if this world is one where he is not alone, but feels like it. It is the hardest, cruelest one.

 

**X**

 

The ride had been silent, the sound of the engine growling under their feet filling the empty space around them. When Castiel gets out of the pale car, it is the Flood coming down on him, a whirlwind of colors and emotions jumping on him like a tiger.

Apparently, they all waited for him, for Charlie wraps her thin arms around his waist before his eyes even start to see the landscape around him. He gives her a surprised look and he suddenly realizes he has been craving touches and affection for too long. He passes his own arms around his sister's shoulders and holds her close against his chest, closing his eyes as her purple aura dives into his bones, soothes him the best it can. Her body is shaken by strangled sobs that resonate in Castiel's heart and he feels the acid guilt blooming once again inside him and he just hates himself for putting the ones who love him in such a pain.

 

She finally steps back after a long moment and wipes her eyes that shine with translucent pearls. “Where have you been?” She whispers and her voice is as thin as paper. “We thought something happened to you!” She adds, shaking.

 

Something happened to him. Not in the way she thinks, but something happened, and it changed him, for the rest of his days. He shakes his head softly and one of his wings spreads slightly to touch hers, and his heart has a painful small beat when he sees the curve is distorted, as if the bones were trying to pierce through the flesh.

“I'm sorry.” He finally whispers, his black feathers mixed with her cinnamon ones. “I wasn't feeling… well.” He adds.

 

“ _Not feeling well_?!” She shouts suddenly and her soul gets violent around her, like a bloody sunset. “We thought you were dead! That's not what I call _not feeling wel_ l!”

 

He lowers his head and moves back and he knows the deepest apology would not change anything. Wanting it or not, he hurt them and he cannot fix it in a few words. Another cruel rule.

Charlie sighs and steps back, and Castiel finally notices the tiredness on her gentle features. Dark circle under her eyes, disheveled dull hair, messy feathers that lost their shine. He gives her a soft punch with his grace and she gives him a weak smile in return, passing an arm around his waist as they turn to the house.

 

Eileen looks at him with compassionate eyes, devoid of any mockery or pity. They are just like Sam's, deep and summer colored, and her soul pulses gently, tainted of the same shades. “Glad to see you're back.” She says with honesty, to what Castiel answers with a smile.

 

“What happened while I was gone?” He asks gently, following them to the patio.

 

“Well, we searched a solution to free Dean.” Sam says. Acid pumps loud in Castiel's heart. “He went through hundreds of books and websites but so far, we found nothing.” He adds, looking put out.

 

“You think we could save him?” Castiel says after a second. He must sounds miserable to them who hunted high and low to find a way to beat the evil force that was this woman.

 

Sam frowns and gives him a confused look. “Don't you?” He asks as he opens the door and steps into living room.

 

Castiel shrugs slightly and falls on the couch next to Charlie that followed him like his shadow. “I don't know.” He whispers before he passes a hand on his tired dry eyes.

 

They stay like this for a moment, in perfect silence, eyes lost in dust and bleeding memories when a joyful voice resonates around them. “Well, look who is back from the dead!”

 

Castiel turns his head to see Lucifer entering the room, wings folded neatly behind him. Castiel frowns a little when he notices the pure white covering them, brighter than he ever saw, as if new feathers replaced the burned old ones.

The Devil sits in front of him and gives him a wide smile. “So? Are you going to give us details or what? Because after jumping out of the ship like you did, I expect explanations.” He says, as if the situation was not serious in any way.

 

Eileen arrives and puts a steaming bowl of soup on Castiel's lap and gives him a motherly look. He lowers his head to look at the food and the smell would drive him crazy. He spent all these weeks pushing the hunger away, turning into a cold steel machine, letting these human needs eat his grace instead, bite after bite. He raises the silver spoon to his lips and takes a careful sip, and his heart jumps warm and singing when the taste fills his mouth, his blood and he feels like living again, at least partly.

When he feels the strength coming back to him, he turns his eyes to Lucifer and his voice is cold as winter. “I don't owe you any explanation.” He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe **you** could explain to me why your spell didn't work.”

 

Lucifer's features freeze and he seems embarrassed. “I don't know.” He says. “Guess your idea wasn't that brilliant.” He snaps.

 

“Don't say it's my fault.” Castiel answers. “You are an archangel. You could have tried to fight her.” He says under his breath, controlling the anger shaking in his throat.

 

Lucifer has an exasperated sigh. “Listen, _brother_ , I understand you're heartbroken because your lover boy jumped in the arms of another, but that doesn't make me guilty.” His look darken and a thin smirk appears on his lips, and he knows where his words will hurt. “Maybe he didn't love you that much after all.” He says with a satisfied smile.

 

Castiel freezes and his hands tighten around the white bowl. Charlie gets up suddenly and her frail shadow falls on the archangel. “It's enough now!” She gives Lucifer a confused look. “What's wrong with you?!” She says.

 

“Shouldn't you go back to Hell?” Castiel cuts her off, eyes fixed strong like oceans in front of his brother.

 

“Hell's fine.” Lucifer snaps too quickly. He leans to Castiel. “Don't make me the person responsible for your mistakes, _brother_.” He whispers before he gets up and walks outside, slamming the door loudly behind him.

 

Castiel lowers his head to the bowl and suddenly there is a knot around his stomach, making him unable to take another mouthful. Charlie pushes his shoulder gently. “Don't worry.” She says as she takes the remote. “He's just in a bad mood.” She adds as she turns on the TV.

 

The pictures appear and he barely looks, and barely listens until one word pierces through his veil of mutism.

 

_Devil._

 

He raises his head and stares at the screen with a shaking heart. In the corner of his eye, he sees all of them look at it as if they were hypnotized by some kind of foreign, modern melody. He focuses on the words and swallows down hardly, sorrow growing in heart.

 

_The police reported this morning a new series of murder in a motel in Austin, Texas, leaving twenty dead. We have been told there could be a link between this slaughter and the previous ones in different towns all over the country. Population is talking about the “Devil” running their streets and different witnesses talked about a man and a woman leaving the crime scene the same night. We want to remind you this couple may be working together and is dangerous and armed. If you see anything that could lead us to possible suspects, please call-_

 

The screen turns black, Charlie's shaking hand raised, the remote trembling in her palm. They all stare at the screen, speechless.

 

“It's him.” Castiel murmurs, awful pictures burning his retina. _Him_ holding her bloody hand as they look down on cold corpses, them running the streets and the woods, spreading Chaos like wings around them. She is turning _him_ into something he is not, into something none of us could have imagined.

 

“Impossible.” Sam whispers, still staring blankly at the screen and Eileen presses his fingers in her hand. He turns slowly to Castiel. “Do you think it is that simple?” He murmurs, incredulous.

 

Castiel shakes his head in an imperceptible way and even him cannot believe it, even if he would jump on every sound, every scent that could take him to the one that makes him suffer like this. He stares at the black screen and thousand of voices whisper promises in his ear.

 

“We found him.” He answers in a breath. “We found Dean.”

 

 

**Week Seven: Chaos**

Castiel stands in the middle of the motel's inner courtyard, neon lights flashing blue on his features. It is been already a week since the TV spat the words that blew on his heart like a storm. A fragile, timid fire started to burn inside him for a second and his eyes opened wide, his soul started to pulse angrily, illuminated by a fresh hope. But the melody coming from the blinding screen turned into a nightmare, creating bloody, unbearable pictures in his head, made of long strands of dark hair wrapped around long pale fingers that were once tied to his.

 

He sighs, and gives a look around. They drove for days to reach the place of the first murder they heard of, but as they expected, they found nothing. They spent all their evenings eyes fixed strong on the small screen of their motel room, mind lost into bright colors and joyful voices singing absurdities to them. The rest of group was sleeping deeply when Castiel heard the sirens outside. He got up quickly and ran on the road to see the police cars coming down the avenue with deafening screams pulsing red and blue. His grace flew inside one of them and wrapped itself around the radio, becoming electric threads diving into the engine, shivering of excitement. A few words flew to his ears such as _striking again…blood...Sun Motel..._ _could always be_ _on crime scene._

He did not think twice and beat his wings, appearing in front of the motel illuminated by violence and despair. He walked hastily inside before the police get there before him. What he saw froze his blood in his veins. At least twenty corpses scattered here and there, surrounded by warm puddles of red liquid rubies. They looked like they have been dragged out of their rooms by an evil force much stronger than anything he knows.

 

Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, he now steps slowly to one of the bodies, only to see the chest wide open like a blooming flower, petals of flesh breathing into the cold winter air, guts like long gruesome ribbons of silk.

 

It is too much and he collapses on his knees, soaking them in hot rivers of blood. He buries his face in his palms and he cannot stop the tears that arrive like the Flood, they flow freely on his hands, cold and hard like diamonds. He can still hear the souls screaming around him, all the pain, all the terror they felt when they realized they were about to die. They float around him like pale clouds, brush against his skin, whispering to him.

_Angel, why are you crying? Angel, do not say you are shedding tears for the monster that calls himself a man! Angel, see your mistakes now and turn around, run forever until this damned love is far away behind you! Angel, do not stay longer with us, fly, fly away from here for your heart is too pure to be in such a torment. Do not think about this cursed beast that shared your kisses and leave our world of desolation! Angel, we are begging you, we did not see the End coming to us, but you, you do not have to be blind! Open your eyes and see all your life is still in front of you like a bright light! What you are looking for is gone and will forever be, so run now and never see!_

 

A numb, sore rain starts to pour inside him, a heavy snow that covers his brain and makes him stare at the wet tiles with empty eyes. He feels nothing. Because he does not know what he is supposed to feel. Sorrow? Despair? Anger? Fear? All of them are birds and they fly above him, prick his skin, his eyes, making him blind. They suddenly scream and swirl in front of his punctured eyes and there is a warm blow of orange light. They become one, giant creature that looks at him with eyes like ablaze ponds. He does not recognize it and it leaves him puzzled, breathless.

 

He observes the chaos inside his heart when a voice clear as bells make him raise his head suddenly.

“Castiel!”

 

A man with blonde hair is walking to him, black wings half opened behind him, and Castiel can only see their tips as white as snow in the darkness of the evening. He narrows his eyes. “Aniel?” He whispers as he gets up, watching the celestial apparition with a heart starting to beat faster.

 

The other angel approaches slowly and stands in front of him, a frown darkening his clear eyes. He stretches one of his wing in front of him and touches Castiel's one with softness. “I'm afraid what you're looking for is already gone, brother.”

 

Castiel swallows down hardly and his eyes travel on his brethren, the one that once fought by his side, cold silver blade in hand, his eyes shining with the same metallic spark. “What are you doing here?” He asks, wary.

 

“Good to see you too.” Aniel answers with a sarcastic hint in his crystal voice. He looks around and his eyes fall on the motionless bodies laying on the pale ground. “See, since your personal demon decided to go dark side again and run away with this… thing, our dearest Father woke up after a long nap and decided we had to do something.” He says with an annoyed pout.

 

Castiel holds his breath. “He told you to kill him?” He whispers, shock grasping at his heart with claws of ice. “He sent you to destroy him?”

 

Aniel shakes his head. “Not in the first place.” He crosses his arm on his chest and stares at his brother with gray blue eyes. “We must destroy the woman, and if Dean Winchester does not cooperate, then yes, we'll have to take him down.”

 

Castiel swallows down loudly and he clenches his fists, ready to fight with sharp teeth and nails to protect his evil light. “He didn't nothing wrong.” He mutters, voice shaking.

 

Aniel has a soft laugh and gives another look around, his pale irises diving in red oceans. “That's not what I would call _right_ , but yes, we know he is controlled.” He looks back at Castiel. “But that's not why I am here.” He suddenly says, his voice now serious and cold.

 

Castiel frowns, wings opening behind him like flags of war. “Then why are you here?” He asks behind his teeth.

 

His brother gets closer and his fresh grace wraps itself around Castiel's bones. “I'm here to help you.” He whispers in his ear, his voice chanting in the wind that blows above their heads. He steps back with a thin smile, almost imperceptible.

 

Castiel looks at him, incredulous. “What do you mean? You're _hunting_ him! That's not what I-”

 

Aniel waves his hand in front of him, stopping the stream of Castiel's words. “Exactly. All Heaven is searching for him, and we constantly share the information that lead us to them. We're closer every day.” He beats his wings once, creating a cool breeze on Castiel. “One of us even saw this mysterious lady. But I can't tell you much about it.” He shrugs. “We never saw him after that.”

 

“I don't understand.” Castiel says, shaking his head. “Why would you help me?” He asks, looking around, nearly sure the trap is about to fall down on his head, a golden cage keeping him from saving his evil light.

 

“Not all of us disagreed with your actions, Castiel. We tried to stop your Fall, and most of your soldiers stood with us. But when we arrived, it was too late.” His eyes sadden, darken like a sea under the night. “You were already on Earth.” He raises a hand and puts it on Castiel's shoulder, immediately soothing the dark haired angel's shaking soul. “If I can give you another chance of saving the one you fell for, then I'll do anything, even if it means disobeying our Father's orders.” He whispers in a breath.

 

Castiel blinks, chases the tears that started to fill his dry eyes full of heavy sleep. “Thank you.” He whispers and Aniel gives him a wide smile full of compassion and pushes him gently with his wing, with enough strength to make him step back.

 

“It's nothing. You'll just have to do a little something for me.” He says with a smirk.

 

“What do you want?” Castiel asks with a sigh of relief.

 

“Pay me some food!” Aniel shouts before he dramatically puts a hand on his stomach. “I feel like dying!” He adds with a happy beat of his wings.

 

Castiel has a soft laugh and for the first time, he realizes he never missed Heaven. He missed the ones that used to sing with him, and run with him, the ones that bathed into evil blood and sweat, before they walked back to their golden garden, laughs filling the cool air. He missed the joy these moments brought to him. And his smile freezes a little when he realizes he also missed the shiver that ran down his spine when he fought, the way his heart trembled when he was taking lives after lives, ripping the dark smokes out of their flesh cages.

In the end, wings or not, he is still a monster, born to kill, born to howl and bleed and hurt the ones around him.

 

**X**

 

“ _Castiel!”_

 

He raises his head when he hears his name inside his mind. He went for a walk among the thickest night he ever saw and observes the pale stars that shine on the dark velvet above him.

The past few days passed way too quickly for his taste, and despite Aniel's help, they did not find anything that could help them get to the demon. Hours passed slow and heavy and Castiel could not see the difference between them, and his only distraction was the car swallowing cold road under them when they went from one city to another.

The burning black aura the woman was carrying everywhere was hiding them at the angels' eyes and Castiel collapsed on bed every evening, feeling the hope fading away like a cloud on a summer day.

 

He sighs and lets his thoughts shape into words. _“Yes?”_ He throws to Aniel and his grace flies above his head, searching for his brother.

 

“ _Something is happening.”_ Aniel answers immediately, the emergency of the situation piercing in his celestial voice. _“I t_ _hink they are here. In town.”_ He says and Castiel's heart jumps in his chest.

 

“ _How do you know?”_ He asks, wings already spreading behind him.

 

“ _I don't know. I just feel Her darkness everywhere. I think-”_ His brother starts before the stream of his thoughts are suddenly cut by a force that pushes even to Castiel's mind. There is a sudden deafening scream that resonates in all his bones and he shivers, blood frozen inside him.

 

He tries to reach for Aniel again. _“What happened?!”_ He shouts and he starts searching for his brother, eyelids pressed tight as his bond with the other angel starts to shine like a long neon ribbon. When he detects the spark of the other grace, he beats his wings and the second after he is standing in front of a shiny signboard shouting **Black Motel** to his tired eyes.

 

He looks around but there is no trace of Aniel, even if the print of his being is still floating in the air where he was standing just a few seconds ago. Worry rises in Castiel's throat and he cannot help but notices the electric, hot smell in the air, as if a whole forest had burned and fell into ashes on this road. He swallows down and warns Charlie that he is leaving to search him. The redhead answers a second after with a mental nod that shapes into a ball of soft light.

He flies from town to town during days, and his wings are about to break when Aniel's soul finally appears on his field of vision, a thin silhouette floating above an abandoned part of the city. Castiel is about to run as fast as possible when a detail shakes his heart. He faces a big black barn in the middle of a burned field and the smoke of his brother is faded, dull in the morning light. He enters the building with a lump on his throat.

 

It is a violent blow in his stomach hitting him, forcing him to hold his ribs as he walks to Aniel's motionless silhouette on the ground, surrounded by blood, wings turned into a sickening puddle of broken black and white feathers. He cannot keep the scream rising in his throat from coming out and he falls on his knees next to his brother's body. His hands flutter above him but there is nothing he can do. The blood is already cold, the soul he saw outside was just a fragile cloud of blue dust. He falls on his knees and lets his grief run free.

 

He cannot believe anyone could have done such a horrible action. Killing someone is a thing, but enjoying every second of torture given is another. There is a whole ocean between taking someone's life and be regaled of the sight of warm blood flowing, of the screams filling the tender air around. And killing a being of pure white light, made of gold and softness, killing an innocent one is like eating your own soul. No, he cannot believe anyone would have done such a thing and find pleasure in those faded begging eyes, those shaking distorted wings.

And most of all, he does not believe the one who held him in tender arms a few months ago is the same that ripped feather after feather like a cruel child. Among those strangled sobs, he cannot think of those soft hands diving in fresh wings and feel the grace pulsing underneath. He cannot think of those bright green eyes turning into mad seas of black oil. He cannot think of his brother suffocating under the hands of the one he loves the most, the one he would give all he has for.

 

Aniel's gray eyes observe him without blinking, and there is not even a hint of fear in them, just a vague despair hidden behind the clear irises. Castiel barely breathes when he closes them and takes his brother's head against his chest, rocking him slowly as if he could bring life back into this vessel of gold and silk. His tears fall on Aniel's soft blonde head and his grace wraps itself around the broken bones, chanting his grief, praying to the skies that saw his birth to cry on their offspring.

 

And as if the pain was not enough, same old cruel companion stabbing his back, the horror rips his heart when he comes back in town with his brother's destroyed body covered of sorrow.

During his absence, the two dark souls running next to each other enjoyed their time in the small town and left a motel drowning in blood and neon lights. Thirty more innocents with empty eyes full of terror.

 

In a few days, he did not only lost a brother. He lost his only chance to save the one that brings him so much love and so much despair at the same time, same old bittersweet feeling. Once again, his heart is tear apart between what is right and what he wants more than everything: having his precious dark star back.

 

 

**Week Eight: Shock**

Castiel presses a button on the vending machine and the thud the can makes when it hits the bottom resonates in his ears, makes him jump.

 

It is the end of the eighth week. He just spent two months alone, emptier than a black hole, all the light swallowed inside him. He has a long sigh and opens the beverage, takes a sugary sip that makes him wince. Everything is this way now, everything that used to give him pleasure is now unbearable. Everything that used to fill the void in his chest is gone and he just does not care. He barely survives and he does not even know why he is still walking this Earth. Maybe it is his stubborn little grace that still wants to fight, just a little spark of life in the darkest corner of his skull.

 

The spring is approaching slowly, like a carnivorous beast approaches its bleeding prey. He cannot even put words on what he is feeling, since this haunting emotion is as deep as the ocean, and as numb and cold as the wind. He just feels a big void in his chest, where his heart should be, a strange creature sleeping inside his ribs instead. He does not feel anything, except these vague feelings that take his soul from time to time, late at night when he cannot sleep. He is laying eyes wide open and suddenly, it is a sharp pain growing inside, causing tears to form in his veins and he bleeds his sorrow dry.

And there is this fear of forgetting. Slowly, surely, time eats his memories away one by one and he wakes up one morning not remembering a scent, a touch, a laugh. All he lived feels like a dream and sometimes he wonders if he will open his eyes one day and sees he is still in Heaven, and that all of this was just a trick from his twisted mind. Or better, he will go to bed tonight and when he will rise again after the night, he will not be alone and his fears would fade into loving arms.

 

He sighs again and finishes his drink, and he does not feel better. He already tried alcohol many times, but it never seemed to work in any way. It left him dizzy for a few minutes, before it faded away, like anything else. He puts his head on the vending machine, the cold heart inside feeling fresh against his skin covered of nervous sweat.

He wants to cry, he wants to make all of this go away for good, but it is like he cannot shed a tear anymore. Like his body is protesting dully, telling him it is too exhausted, too empty to even move and that crying is a luxury he cannot afford.

 

His wings are heavy behind him and he has hard time keeping them hidden. He gives a look around and sees he is the only one standing in front of the motel. He wandered for hours in the night after the rest of the family fell asleep, faces marked by tiredness and despair. This situation is devouring them with voracious bites and Castiel does not know how long they will survive like this.

He shakes his shoulders and the wings appear on his back with a rustle as he curls them around him, enjoys the soft sensation of the feathers against his body. He holds them close against him, pressed against his sides to keep him warm in the freshness of the coming spring. He raises one of them and looks at the round curve, and his eyes travel slowly to their edges, sharp like knives. The building projects neon lights on their smooth surface, as if the feathers had been bathed in chemical potions. Blue, pink, red, joyful bright colors on his tired wings.

 

He is about to put another coin inside the machine when a soft sound makes him stop his gesture. He freezes and his attention snaps suddenly back to him, his soul creating a bubble around him as he looks around, frowning. His wings are almost invisible in the night, but he suddenly feels like someone is looking right at them, heavy, cold eyes burning every feather.

He steps back on the parking lot and holds his breath. Fear grows like an exotic flower inside him and he moves his hand, the angel blade appearing in his palm a second after. The neon lights are still illuminating him, blinding superficial stars, but he feels like the darkness is coming closer and closer, and he is about to be swallowed by the Beast.

 

A metallic sound resonates just a few feet from him and he turns suddenly, heart beating at the speed of light. His breathing is rapid, painful and his wings open wide behind him, curl above his head, like sublime black arches. He raises his blade and his grace shakes around him, electric.

 

The neon lights stop flashing and turn into a deep, threatening blood-red. Castiel freezes and narrows his eyes to see a silhouette shaping into the dark. He makes a step, weapon still gripped tight, breathing cold in the night when a voice explodes softly, striking him right in the heart.

“Cas?” The dark silhouette whispers before hesitant steps echo on the ground, gentle notes creating a familiar melody.

 

Castiel's soul bursts and bleeds like a blue river when Dean gets out of the shadows, two bright green gems staring at him as if he was the cruelest apparition, the most awful creature on this Earth, the vision of his Salvation itself.

But his heart stops when he sees something did not change in those gentle eyes. There is a warm, delicate feeling that pulses, flames colored. Something as soft as honey, as powerful as a hurricane, as strange as love...

 


	13. Neon Sweat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When is a monster not a monster?"  
> Oh when you love it...

Castiel holds his breath. Every drop of blood in his veins froze, became thick and black. All his limbs started to shiver uncontrollably and he tries to control himself as much as he can, but a force as strong as a hundreds sun pulses in his chest, making him scream silently of pain. The cold wind hits his skin with sharp silver fingers, but his grace is boiling inside, a fluorescent blue sea crashing against his flesh. His heart beats furiously like a terrified bird that fell from the nest, watching the ground getting closer and closer, already smelling the soft soil covered of dry leaves and fresh snow.

All his being pushes him to the familiar silhouette standing in front of him, all his soul is howling inside him, but he grips his blade tighter, an acid gray fear rising in his throat, his vision turning black and red on the edges.

 

He takes a short breath that feels like a wave of fire in his head, before he swallows hardly, trying to control his shaking voice. “What are you doing here?” He asks in a whisper, biting his tongue, keeping himself from running into the arms that once held him.

 

The demon has a confused frown and hurt is painted all across his evil features, the red lights casting odd shadows on them. He makes a step, to what the angel answers with one back, and Dean sees his grace already trying to escape in the night. His heart has a painful beat and weighs heavy on his tongue. His mouth is dry and the words are tasteless, poisonous. He pushes his aura to the celestial being but it snaps back to him, cold and monstrous, while the angel protects himself in a thin bubble of loathing.

“Cas...” Dean whispers again and walks to him, a hand raised in the air. The angel's wings are covered by a violent shiver and he grips his weapon as if it could keep him from drowning in the agitated sea.

 

“What are you doing here?” Castiel snaps back, clenching his jaw, eyes darker than the night, wincing at the soft melody of his name on the demon's tongue.

 

Dean swallows the sorrow back. “Cas, listen, I need to talk...”

 

“How did you know I was there?” Castiel shouts and his wings have a wide beat that creates electricity on Dean's whole body, making the hair on the back of his head stand on end. “Have you been following me?!”

 

Dean's heart bleeds even more, the blue grief flows loud in his ears. “No.” He murmurs, and when he blinks, a single tear falls on the cold ground, perfectly shaped, a small evil diamond. “I didn't know you'd be here.” He whispers.

 

“Then, why?!” Castiel shouts again and his voice gets stuck in his throat, a heavy sob growing on his lungs like a cancer. “Why are you here?!” He says and his vision gets blurry, these past two months resurfacing with all the ache and grief he ever knew.

 

Dean approaches again and Castiel does not move. “She asked me to.” The demon whispers, shame shining gold in his green eyes. “She asked me to have a look around so we could come back later to...” He stops, visions of his past actions flashing in his mind. He shakes his head and stares at Castiel with begging irises. “Please, I just want to talk. We only have a few hours before she gets back. I saw a restaurant that is still open and-”

 

“I'm not going anywhere with you.” Castiel says coldly, tears forming beads on his words. “How do I know it's not a trap?”

 

Dean blinks and something aches in his chest, something he thought was asleep for centuries. “You know me, Cas.” He whispers, getting closer again.

 

The angel gives him a blazing look that makes him stop and a sob shapes in his throat. “No, I don't. Not anymore.” Castiel says without blinking. “You're not the one I knew.”

 

Dean's lungs are crushed under steel feet, and wild monsters run through him, making him unable to breathe. He walks again to Castiel and the angel's grace starts fizzing on his skin. He winces softly but keeps getting closer. Castiel looks like he cannot move, his limbs frozen under the fading winter. “Please, I just wanna talk.” He says and his soul shapes into a ribbon that flows to Castiel, whose eyes follow it coldly.

 

“About what?” Castiel answers, voice shaking of anger and tiredness. “How you killed all those people? How you killed my brother?” He shouts, and the angel blade falls from his hand to the ground with a deafening noise, but he just does not care. He stares at Dean and his grace turned into a threatening dark orange light moving like a fire. “I searched for you because I thought we could save you. But this woman… she is controlling you and- and I cannot do anything about it!” He shakes. “I must protect the ones I love. And I cannot put them in danger because of me.”

 

Dean suddenly steps forward and he reaches out to grab Castiel's hand. The angel flinches like the touch burned him but he follows the motion without moving when Dean raises it and puts his palm on his chest. The demon's heart beats at the speed of light behind the flesh and bones, like a distraught melody.

 

“I'd never hurt them.” He says, his eyes desperately searching Castiel's blue ones. “I'd never hurt _you_! Cursed or not!” He presses the angel's warm palm against him and the touch flutters like butterflies in his stomach. “And if I ever tried, you'd have to take me out.”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “You know I can't do that.” He whispers and he feels his strength already fading away, his weak being pushed further into Dean.

 

“Some monsters have to be erased.” Dean answers and his eyes dive into Castiel's grace. “Please, just give me a few hours before I lose myself again.”

 

Castiel sighs deeply, the pressure on his shoulders feeling heavier than ever. This is not wise, this is simply selfish. He is putting everyone in danger, including himself, but the thought of a few hours in Dean's company, just a few volatile moments stolen from the night to be by his side, drives him crazy. This scent, this soul, these bright eyes, they rush through him like the tide and he would scream of pain if he was not so exhausted.

Dean releases his hand and it feels so cold, so empty. He steps back and looks at him, a frown marking his face illuminated by the motel's lights. “Are you coming?” He asks softly, fear piercing in his voice.

 

Castiel's soul has a bright blow and his wings fold a little behind him. He may be jumping right into a trap, right into the monster's maw but the temptation is too strong. The absence devoured all his spirit away, and he may be losing his mind without knowing it. But the vision is just so beautiful, so real. He cannot let this chance slip through his fingers. He makes a step to Dean, whose eyes open a little wider as he holds his breath.

Remains of an old memory shine like embers in Castiel's mind and he sighs again. “Always.” He whispers before he follows the shivering demon into the night.

 

**X**

 

Castiel's hands frame the little white cup, steam flowing in lazy ribbons above his fingers, tickling the skin gently, filling his brain with a strong, heady scent. His eyes are lost into the black coffee, but he does not touch it. He already imagines the violent taste on his tongue and he winces of disgust, his stomach jumping like a furious horse.

Dean is sitting in front of him, lost in the same old stupor. The bottle of beer feels cold in his hands and the alcohol shakes, golden and light, in his fingers. He does not dare to say a word, guilt stuck in his throat like a rock. He lets his soul rise above him for a moment, fly above the city as he searches for Amara. He only needs a second and his aura suddenly touches another one, spicy and black, that swallows him whole. Screams and the familiar scent of blood fills his mind, causing a shiver from his frozen body. He flinches and Amara smiles at him from the other side of the town, innocent tears dripping from her bony fingers. He blinks and focuses back on the reality, now knowing she is too busy to care about him.

 

“So,” Castiel starts. “Are you going to tell me why we are here?”

 

Dean blinks again, fear and grief growing, blooming like a great garden on his lungs. “I didn't know you were here. I arrived at the motel and I...” He stares at Castiel with eyes full of pain. “I saw you. And it's like I forgot what I was doing here, like it didn't matter anymore.”

 

Castiel takes a sip of his hot beverage and the bitter taste scratches his tongue with sharp claws. “I thought she was controlling you.” He says coldly.

 

“She is.” Dean answers. “But not 24/7. Sometimes I can escape her hold, and I'm myself again.” He mutters, eyes floating behind the dirty window, watching the cars passing by with low, deep growls like metallic panthers.

 

Castiel flinches and a drop of his coffee escapes his cup to crash on the table. “So you say you could have left? That she was not constantly watching you?”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, I even spent a week without her.” He simply says.

 

Castiel's face melts into a cold mask. “And you never thought of coming back.” He whispers, acid rage exploding inside him. He clenches his jaw, pale grace turning into thin electric threads. He blinks and realization hits him violently. “You never wanted to come back.” He adds, paralyzed by astonishment.

 

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks, a frown creating shadows on his face, as Castiel notices the dark circles under his eyes that turned dull and haunted.

 

“I started to think you were dead!” Castiel suddenly shouts, a storm shaking his words, as he slams his cup on the table. A few customers turn to them, intrigued, and he lowers his voice. “Why didn't you come back?!”

 

“You know why.” Dean says calmly. “I did it to protect you.”

 

Castiel presses his lips tight together to keep the sob of agony from going out. “You told me you would never come back.” He mutters under his breath as he dives his eyes into Dean's. “So, why are you here now?”

 

“Because I'm a selfish bastard, that's why.” Dean answers, eyes fixed strong on the dark haired angel. “Because I can't keep my damn promises. I told you I'd let you have a normal life and that I'd never come back if I ever made it out alive of whatever this is.” He leans back and his features are tense like a bow. “Truth is, I never thought I'd survive. And I still don't.”

 

“You're saying goodbye.” Castiel whispers in a breath. A salty drop falls on his lips, soon followed by a whole rain spurting out of his eyes. He wipes them angrily.

 

“Didn't have the occasion.” Dean says. “I planned to keep my promises and let you and Sam create a life without me. I knew you've been searching me, but I thought you'd give up one day or another.” He stops, lip trembling. “Everything was going the way I planned, until I saw you.” He dives his soul into Castiel's. “It's always you.”

 

Castiel bites his tongue until it starts to bleed softly and his wings shift around him, enfold him tenderly. “And you think I'm going to let you leave another time?” He asks behind his teeth.

 

“You'll have to.” Dean answers, his head tilting slightly, eyes soon filled with a soft compassion that makes Castiel's rage burn brighter.

 

“You refuse my help. You tell me I'll never see you again and you leave. And now you just reappear?” Castiel narrows his eyes at the demon. “Why?”

 

Dean sighs deeply and it is like centuries run through him in one motion. “You have to stop running after me and start a real life. It's not like we have another choice.” He leans to Castiel and his hot breaths hit the angel like swords of fire. “You have to start living and forget me. You'll find another person and you'll be freakin' happy for the rest of your days, OK? If I survive, I'll not come back, I'll not destroy you once again, you hear me?”

 

“You expect me to forget everything and pretend you never existed?” Castiel asks, the words feeling heavy in his mouth, full of nonsense.

 

Dean has a weak little smile. “Exactly.” His soul gives Castiel a little blow, shaped into a small ball of bright green and gold light. “If Amara ever let me go, it could be in centuries, if not more.” His eyes glimmer of hurt, for a brief second. “You'll not even remember me by this time.”

 

Castiel has a small laugh, cut by a heavy sob. “Is that you think?” He clenches his fists under the table, his knuckles turning white. “Do you even know how hard it was when you left?” He asks, eyes turning into moving storms, gray clouds invading the fields of his irises.

 

Dean's look hardens. “Yeah, I think I know.” He says, anger piercing through his voice. “Are you saying I didn't suffer enough? That when you left for a whole freakin' month, it was like nothing happened?!”

 

“I didn't say that.” Castiel answers and his grace hides in the darkest corner of his body under Dean's heavy furious look.

 

“Yes you did.” Dean mutters. “What do you think? That it'll be easy for me? That I'll watch my brother grow old and die, and that I'll not feel anything?” His eyes loose their anger and they are suddenly filled with an overwhelming sorrow. “If I ever make it out alive, I'll have to run as far as possible from you, to make you sure I never make the same mistakes again.” He adds softly.

 

“You don't have to. You can come back and we'll find a solution.” Castiel says and his voice is almost imperceptible.

 

“You know there ain't any other ways. If I try to escape, she'll kill you all.” Dean clenches his jaw. “And then there'll be nothing to hold me back.”

 

Castiel sighs. “Then promise me you'll find me again.” His words tremble like clouds under the wind. “Promise me you won't let me live the eternity without you.”

 

Dean's soul bursts into a painful light and it starts bleeding around him, screaming of ache. “You know I can't.”

 

“Then don't expect me to be alive if you ever remember me in a century or two.” Castiel snaps and all his tiredness rushes through him, turning into a sharp arrow pointed at Dean.

 

“Don't do that.” The demon says, something shaking under his words. “You can't give up like this. I can't let you do that”

 

“Then you're lying.” Castiel says and he holds his head high, his halo shining like a golden crown above him.

 

Dean gives him a puzzled look. “What?”

 

“If you really started caring again, then why are you here? Why didn't you walk away and let me believe I lost you a little longer?” The angel answers and his eyes are as cold as the sea.

 

Dean shakes his head, incredulous. “You think this is what I want? That I didn't try to reach you all these weeks because I didn't care?” He shakes his head once again, eyes filled with dying flames. He looks at Castiel, desperate. “I'm doing this to protect Sam and you. You think that I wouldn't spend the rest of my life with you if I could?”

 

Castiel shudders. Sometimes he wonders if hatred is not stronger than love. Because he loathes the feeling itself now. He cannot bear it anymore, he is sick of it. His Father told him to love but he never told him the price he would have to pay. That even the purest emotion in this Universe comes with the greatest pain. He closes his eyes and pushes all his grace back, turning into a stone-cold creature.

He gets up suddenly, his wings unfurled behind him in an invisible caress. He walks to the door and opens it wide, as he starts crossing the parking lot. His steps echo on the cold ground and he clenches his fists, his feathers brushing against his arms, protecting him like a soft shield.

 

He is standing in the middle of the empty place, bathed under the neon lights, spreading his wings behind him, about to beat them in one motion to fly away from his cursed town. He opens them wide and the wind slides on them like a silver palm. He is about to disappear when a voice rips the night apart.

 

“CAS!”

 

As the greatest mistake he could make, he turns back and sees Dean running to him, his evil soul shaking of fear and despair, pulsing green, black and gold, shaping into tattered wings behind him.

Castiel knows he should escape as fast as possible, run away from this madness, this unholy feeling called love, this beast sleeping inside his heart, biting and biting and biting. But he does not. He stands in the darkness, motionless and watches the demon approaching, breathless.

 

Dean stares at him with eyes haunted by ghosts and shadows. “Please, don't go.” He begs, sobs like moths in his throat.

 

“I thought that's what you wanted.” Castiel coldly answers but there is not much strength in his words, as if he did not believe it himself, and that it was causing him the greatest pain to say them.

 

Dean's face shifts into a mask of suffering. “Don't say that.” He whispers as he makes a step closer, piercing the shield of grace Castiel made around him. It explodes and fades away in the night. “I never wanted any of this.”

 

Castiel's heart softens and he feels suddenly so awful for blaming Dean like he did. “I know.” He says, as he lowers his head to stare at the ground.

 

Dean passes a hand in his hair and shakes his head. “Listen, Cas. I'm tired. I can't take this anymore.” He says, a lump on his throat. He walks even closer, until he is just a breath away. The angel raises his head to look at him and his eyes dive into Dean's. “Please, stay just for tonight. And then I'll leave the town, and I'll keep Amara away.”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “You're only making this harder.” He says to the night.

 

“I know.” Dean admits in a breath. “And I lied about everything. I don't want you to forget me, and I'm not ready to die. I try to convince myself that pushing you and Sam away will save you, and maybe it will, but I know that if she wants to kill you, she will.” He exhales deeply, shivering. “I don't want to fight forever. I don't think I can.”

 

Castiel's heart starts beating faster, stubborn little soldier raising blades and bows on its broken battlefield. The angel sighs and his wings drop behind him, the largest feathers hang in the frozen dust. He feels Dean's hot soul swirling around him, tainted of warm shades, shining of violent emotions and he bathes in them, drowns in sand and liquid suns.

His grace rises above his head, shaped into a perfect wave and it crashes against Dean, who shivers of surprise. Castiel closes his eyes and lets himself collapse against the demon. His head falls heavy on his chest and he buries his face in the rough fabric of Dean's jacket. The tears flow silently and he breathes into Dean, while every single memory rush through him like a cleansing ocean. It is like he never left him and he starts sobbing quietly, his heart shattering in the dark.

Dean does not think twice and wraps his own arms around Castiel's waist, drawing him close, holding him tight. The angel's wings curl around them, protect them from the sight of impure souls, as if the night had fallen just on them. He puts his head on Cas' shoulder and a fresh scent floats to him, and he remembers the pines, the stars, he remembers life itself.

 

Suddenly, Castiel moves against his chest and raises his head. His lips press a fragile, shaking kiss on Dean's mouth. The demon tries to calm his breathing, in vain, and he is sucked into a black hole. Behind his closed eyelids, colors dance like ghostly silhouettes in a foggy field at night. Dean melts under the kiss, lets all his being jump on this shocking moment and his hands move on Cas' back to land between his wings, fingers disappearing under the thick feathers. Castiel's warmth surrounds him as the angel takes him by the collar of his jacket to keep him close, his hair tickling Dean's skin. Their souls collide like two stars, fuse into one blinding light between blue and green, a strange and soothing universe.

 

Castiel's fingers grip Dean's hair as he beats his wings. There is a rustle like leaves and ribbons of silk in the wind and the parking lot is now empty.

 

**X**

 

Castiel collapses on the motel's bed, his wings melting into soft sheets behind him, Dean on top of him. He only notices the pure shades of dark blue and brown around them, the neon lights shining outside, illuminating the room through the thin curtains. The rest is just confusion and sensations, a colorful new mess. He falls into a whirlwind of fire and ice, water and wind.

 

_Clothes ripped apart by voracious hands and nails scratching backs. Muscles playing under soft skin, fingers gripping strands of silky hair, fingers laced together above a dark head. Whispers and salty tears rolling together on cheeks covered by shadows. Fire rushing through hungry veins, resonating into ears, whispers and promises, prayers and sighs creating an odd melody. Souls finding each other, drowning in each other, blue and green and silver and gold. Moving bodies bathed in moans and evil warmth, celestial breeze. Voices chanting together, eyes opening wide, drugs flowing like blood, burning fingertips leaving strange patterns on breathless chests. Mouths like ashes falling on each other, murmuring, pupils as wide as the full moon. Cold sweat like pearls on shivering spines._

_Screams and visions of Heaven and Hell. Black wings spreading wide, great flags on the white ceiling, feathers flying around like dark arrows shooting into beating heart. The hearts, pumping so loud, singing so clearly like bells on a Sunday. Oceans and fields and stars rushing through heavy bodies that roll on the cold sheets, trembling together of this new sensation, this new Universe creating itself in front of their eyes. Bodies bathed in fluorescent moonlight and shining darkness, holding on each other like it is the end of Time, like the world is crashing down at their feet. Green gems thrown into space, lost in desire._

_Bodies reaching the skies, flying together like one creature whispering among the pines, smooth wood under their pale skin. Lips fluttering on necks and stomachs and flight of butterflies filling numb limbs. Liquid gold pouring down on two shuddering souls that ignite in the dark, fingers counting freckles and scars, counting beauty and disaster, tenderness and chaos. Tongues tasting soft blood and salty silver tears like stars. Eyes drowning in endless seas and hands framing golden halos. Kisses that feel like fire, that burn like wrath and anger, along with fingers running through thick hair and feathers, handfuls of delicate grace, handfuls of cursed auras._

_Vision turning black and red, minds melting in shiny puddles, ponds of smiles and surprised sighs, golden specks of dust floating and each one of them is now so beautiful. Hands finding each other, sun and moon, shivers running through arms and chests, head buried in celestial skin. Legs tangled together, white sheets like a fallen moonlight. Ears listening to shaking breathing closely, drawing constellations on bare shoulder blades, lips traveling along collarbones. Ruby red lips finding each other again, smiling and aching. Wings draped above evil body, blue eyes finding green fields and forests again, wind singing outside, lights turning in soft pink, jukebox playing somewhere. Dark hair against black ink star, listening to a wild animal beating behind solid ribs. Hands holding on the last embers of the night._

 

“I'll fight.” Dean murmurs to the starry eyes. “I have the eternity.”

 

Castiel buries his head and listens to the day waking, the sun shaking and appearing on the dark horizon, the blue hour appearing as beautiful as always. He falls asleep at the sound of Dean's soft voice, singing foreign words to him.

 

When he wakes up, Dean is gone, and his scent, and his smile, and his eyes, and his evil, dark, soft, violent soul. He is all gone and Castiel curls up on the bed, pressing the white sheets in his fist, clenching his jaw to be strong. He holds on the last remains of the night and takes a deep breath. He knows.

He knows his dark star can be saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's now a playlist with a bunch of songs that inspire me for this story! You can find it here : https://8tracks.com/my-soul-is-fire/amok


	14. He Loves Like An Ocean

Castiel is lost in thought. His mind is drowning in the memory of the night before. Powerful, colorful, like a curious apparition, mesmerizing him hours after hours and his sanity flows away, escaping from his broken skull. He can still feel Dean's arms around him, the soft sheets beneath him like a sea of silk. He can still feel his wings spreading wide behind him, the grace crackling in the air, electric snakes filling the room. He remembers waking up this morning and feeling the emptiness of the bed falling heavily on him. He turned around, searching for an evil creature with bright eyes, only to find the night staring at him instead.

Deep down, a light started to appear, shining shyly behind his ribs, blooming softly in his heart. It is warm and golden, giving his cheeks their colors back. He knows this burning feeling is hope, and that he should not let it devour him so fast, but he cannot help but hold onto this fire to stay alive. He now knows Dean can be saved, no matter how. There is a solution, and if he has to move oceans and stars to find it, he will. Without hesitation.

 

He sighs and raises his eyes to his family, surrounding him like a little shield of smiles and voices. He immediately went back to the motel that was their new home in some way, and found them walking nervously in circles, with nails bitten to the blood, disheveled hair and haunted eyes. He did not let them the time to think and told them the whole story, only omitting a few details burning in his chest.

Sam is staring at him, dark circles under his faded eyes. Castiel knows this hunt after his brother drained him and that all his strength vanished in thin air, only leaving an empty shell.

“Are...” Sam starts, and the angel sees how tense his body is, how desperate and exhausted his voice sounds. “Are you sure it was really him?”

 

Castiel nods, heart beating fast. “Yes, I'm sure. Besides, he told me this woman, Amara, was not always controlling him.”

 

Lucifer has a sarcastic laugh that makes all of them turn to him. “A demon's word isn't worth anything.” He spits and looks at his brother. “How can you be so naive? You were starting to see him as a monster!” He shakes his head, incredulous. “A night? That's what you needed to change your mind?

 

Castiel's eyes darken. “This is serious, Lucifer.” He says, avoiding Sam, Eileen and Charlie's surprised looks turning to him.

 

“I am.” The Devil answers. “Tell me you didn't believe it was his choice!” Seeing his brother's hard glare, his eyes are filled with sticky pity and he steps to Castiel. “Listen, no matter what you believe, he's not yours anymore. He is this woman's own toy and there's no way you can have him back, OK?” His wings have an angry beat. “You put all of us in danger!”

 

“I know!” Castiel shouts, clenching his fists, wings trembling of red rage. “But I know him, and the man I saw was the same I saved from Hell.” He now speaks behind his teeth, controlling his boiling blood. “I won't let him suffer without doing nothing, when there could be a way to break the bond between them.”

 

“I agree with Castiel.” Eileen suddenly says, raising her cup of steaming coffee to her thin mouth. Her spotted wings are neatly folded behind him, the large white feathers brushing against Sam's bare arm. Her aura pulses purple around her, trying to soothe the electricity in the room. “If we can save Dean, than what are we waiting for? Another massacre?” Her eyes dive into their souls, serious and deep as dark oceans. “We can't wait forever, or the chance we have to save him could be the last. We've got nothing to lose, so we should at least try to free him from this link he doesn't want.” She stops for a second, eyes fixed strong on them. “No matter what you'll choose, I won't stop trying until he's back with us, safe.”

 

She stops, barely blinking and Sam stares at her, speechless. “Why would you do that?” He whispers softly, turning to her.

 

She looks at him and her eyes soften like honey, melting on Sam's warm soul. “Because I already watched people I cared about die, and I won't do the same, never again.” One of her wings stretches to her side to pass behind Sam's large back. He holds his breath, taken by hot shock. “And because I love you, and I'd do anything for you.” Eileen adds tenderly.

 

Sam's eyes are soon filled with tears of astonishment and he gets closer to wrap his arms around her frail shoulders, holding her close against his chest, eyes closed of relief. Castiel observes them and his heart has a little painful twitch, a small jump that makes him shiver. His voice gets stuck in his throat but beyond control, a smile spreads on his lips as he watches the two souls turning dark red, glimmering of tenderness.

He shifts on the bed he is sitting on, and Charlie notices the heavy feeling that fell like a veil on his blue eyes. She walks to him and sits by his side, cinnamon wings tangled with his black smooth feathers. She pushes him softly with her shoulder and he turns to her slowly.

“I'm with you.” She whispers and her grace shapes into bubbles around them, exploding with crystal clear sounds against Castiel's rough one. “I know how much he means to you.” She adds as she leans to put her head on her brother's shoulder.

 

“Maybe you should go back to Heaven.” Castiel answers carefully and he feels Charlie's body stiffening next to him.

 

“Why would I do that?” She answers without moving, eyes lost into the Empty.

 

“It could be dangerous for you to stay.” Castiel says and raises an arm to put it around her shoulders, his own cheek brushing against soft red hair. “We know what they're capable of if you don't obey.”

 

“I don't care.” Charlie answers coldly. “Heaven is not my home anymore.” She adds and her voice does not shake, and there is not a single hint of doubt in her words.

 

Worry flows free in Castiel's veins and he frowns. “I don't you to fall like I did. Humanity is not for us.”

 

Charlie blinks and her look flies to Sam and Eileen, whose fingers are laced like pale ribbons. “On the contrary.” She says as she gives Sam a soft smile, as the tall man answers with the same curve on his lips. “I think it is. Since the beginning.”

 

“But you love Heaven...” Castiel starts before Charlie cuts him off, raising her head, short curls moving around her features made of porcelain.

 

“I _loved_ Heaven. But I never felt like belonging, I always felt like the black sheep, you know?” She shakes her head. “I wanted to leave for as long as I can remember.” Her lips are pressed tight together. “And when you fell, I tried to escape.” She admits, lowering her eyes.

 

Castiel raises his head suddenly. “What?” He murmurs, not sure if he heard her words right.

 

Charlie raises her eyes to him and dives her warm irises into his cold ones. “I didn't have much friends up there.” She says. “So when you fell, I had no reason to stay.” Her face darkens as if the night had fallen right on her. “I tried to escape but they saw me and they kept me from leaving. I spent a few weeks locked, “ _to put me back on the right path_ ”, as they said.”

 

Castiel's heart stops. “But why did they let you leave again, with Lucifer?” He asks, puzzled.

 

Charlies sighs and twists a strand of hair with a finger. “I didn't let them much choice. When we heard you were about to call Lucifer, everyone was panicked. It was my chance, and I took it.” She says without breathing. She dives her eyes again into Castiel's. “They probably know I'm here now, and it's just a matter of time before they come for me.” She has a little sigh. “But I won't go back.”

 

“But why?” Castiel murmurs, his wings covered by a shiver.

 

Charlie gets up, brown wings half spread behind her. She stops in the middle of the room, followed by curious eyes, before she turns back to Castiel. “I have found home.” She raises a hand to stop Castiel's words. “I know the risk, and as I said, I don't care. I'd rather be a happy human than a desperate angel. You know what this kind of feeling do to us.” She says, staring at Castiel who does not answer.

 

There is a light silence before it breaks apart when Lucifer clears his throat, his grayish wings strangely luminous under the dull lights, as if fluorescent veins were running under the feathers. “Thank you for this very touching moment, but that doesn't change anything.” He says, cold as ice.

 

“You're free to go.” Castiel says without blinking, the tip of his wing pointing at the door.

 

Lucifer pouts and glares at him, but chooses to ignore his words. “I don't think you understand everything. Amara is keeping him on a leash, and there's no way we can get to him. Unless you're all ready for a useless suicide.” He crosses his arms on his chest, eyes dark as night. “She's too dangerous. She used to destroy whole towns for fun.” He adds.

 

There is another silence, heavier this time. They all turn their heads to him and Eileen frowns, wings frozen behind her. “I thought you didn't remember her.” She says in a breath.

 

It is Lucifer's turn to be confused. He opens wide eyes and mouth. “I never said that.”

 

“Yes, you did.” Sam says, suddenly walking to him with slow, dangerous steps, his height falling like a night sky on the archangel. “You told us you never heard about her.” He narrows his eyes, clenching his fists. “Are you hiding something from us?”

 

Lucifer freezes under Sam's eyes full of clouds and thin pearls of sweat start to cover his spine of thorns. He steps back, ill-at-ease, heat rising to his evil features. “No, I-I never said that. I-”

 

“You what?” Sam shouts, pushing suddenly Lucifer, who stumbles back, his irises darkening. “You told us you had no idea who she was. And now you're telling us you were there when she was free on Earth? Don't you think there's a problem in your story?” Sam spits at his face and Castiel sees the anger pulsing in his blood, tainted in an evil fluorescent orange, ready to explode.

 

Castiel gets up and walks to them, before he puts a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. The tall man turns back and gives him a questioning look. The dark haired angel sighs before he turns his eyes to his brother.

 

“Tell us the truth.” He says, his grace diving under Lucifer's skin, lightning striking under celestial bones.

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes and pushes Sam aside with a violent punch of his wing. Sam winces and the second after, Eileen is standing between him and Lucifer, her frail silhouette like a mountain between the human and the angel. Her eyes are full of wrath and she grabs Sam's arm, as she makes him step away from the Devil. This one follows the motion with a clenched jaw but does not say anything. He finally turns to Castiel.

“I told you. I don't remember her. I-” His mask of ice falls again and he has a hard time finding his words, his brain lost into thick smokes. He bites his lips and keeps going. “Maybe I've heard of her someday, but I'm not sure. But what I'm sure of, is that there's no way to save this demon boyfriend of yours.” He says, causing a shiver of anger from Castiel.

 

This one gets closer and opens his wings wide behind him like great flags of darkness. “Listen, I don't know why you are here, or what you want. But no one, and definitely not you, will keep me from doing everything I can to save Dean.” He says in one breath, his electric eyes glowering at Lucifer.

 

The Devil has a small nod and something dark moves in his dirty yellow grace. He steps back and his eyes do not leave Castiel, who follows his motion, frowning. He stares at him for a long, eternal minute, before he turns back to the rest of the group, a silent question floating in the hot air of the room.

Sam speaks for him. “I agree we have to do as fast as possible.” He raises his eyes to look at Castiel. “What do we do?” He asks, hope shining gold in his tired irises.

 

Castiel sighs and passes a hand in his hair. “I don't know.” He walks back to the bed and sits again next to Charlie, who is drowning herself in thoughts. “It's not that easy. We have to find a way to reach him when she's not there.”

 

“Yeah, and after that?” Lucifer asks, breaking the silence again of his rough voice. “Do I have to remind you she'll know he's gone the second we'll disappear with him?” He asks, exasperated.

 

“She didn't know last night.” Castiel simply says, causing his brother to raise an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, maybe. But do you think of what will happen when we'll be home? If we can't break the link between the two of them, she'll come after us and kill us all.” His face darkens with a brief glimpse of fear. “This is quite a plan you got there, brother.”

 

“I know. We have to separate them.” Castiel frowns. “But how?”

 

Sam shifts in his field of vision, moves his tall silhouette on his feet. “We've already searched everywhere, and we found nothing about her. How can we find something to break their... bond?” He says with a disgusted hint on his last word.

 

“But you saw him yesterday and… and he was himself, right?” Eileen says, turning her dark eyes to Castiel. “It could mean that if he's away from her for enough time, it could break the connection between them.”

 

“Yes, he told me she couldn't control him when she's not around.” Castiel answers, feeling like he will never find the way out of this maze. “But how can we be sure it'll be enough? And how do we know how much time we have before she finds us?”

 

“We don't.” Lucifer answers and they all look at him, hearts beating slower of despair. “We're jumping right into the trap.”

 

They all have a long, desperate sigh. The morning is getting closer, the sun about to rise bright above the motel. The air is already smelling like fresh flowers and tall grass, laughter and chanting breezes, and it only frightens them more than they were. The winter passed by like a storm, loudly but fast and before they could even realize, it was gone and the birds were singing, and the nature was born again in its endless circle. The cold times were not there anymore to cover their heavy heads, to enfold them in icy wings, to wipe their tears away with motherly silky fingers. The sun will be there, bright, arrogant, monstrous golden coin thrown into space, like a superficial, flawed star and it would shine mercilessly on them, burning their eyes and hope. The night was about to fade into thin shreds and the bluest of skies would appear, joyful and full of pity.

“We should go back home.” Sam suddenly says and Castiel's head snaps to him.

 

“What?” He blurts. “But Dean's right here! If we go home, we'll have no other chance to find him!” He says, staring at Sam, incredulous.

 

“I know.” Sam murmurs. “But we can't keep going like this. We have to get some rest. It's not like that-” He gestures around, his hand pointing at purple dark circles and faded eyes and sore bodies. “-that we'll find him.”

 

“But it could take months!” Castiel insists.

 

Sam sighs and his look is full of compassion. He walks slowly to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, just like Castiel did a few minutes ago to ease his anger. “I know, Cas.” His words get stuck in his throat, suddenly, and he has to take a deep breath to keep going, emotions dancing wild in his eyes. “He's my brother, and there's not a minute that pass where I don't miss him. I already spent years without him, and believe me, it's enough.”

 

Castiel gives him a weak smile and the tip of his wing pushes Sam slightly in a gentle touch. “You're right.” He says in a low voice. When he thinks, he started to miss his home and the soft weight of the pines on his halo. He raises his head to dive his eyes into Sam's. “We shouldn't stay any longer.”

 

In a few minutes, they pack their things and have a look around, making sure they did not forget anything. And they know they did not, for all that is left in the room when the angels beat their wings, is only despair and fading hope. A breath after, they are standing in front of Sam's house, the morning now completely covering the skies in dull shades of pale blue and gray.

“Go inside.” Castiel says in a tired voice. “I'll join you in a minute.” He adds as he faces the woods. The family enters the house with exhausted sighs and he just sits on the little wooden stairs, listening to the forest moving and breathing in the cool breeze.

 

The floor creaks when Charlie sits slowly next to him. He turns his head to look at her. Her red curls flies around her soft face and her wings feel warm against Castiel's, that seem frozen since Dean left.

“We'll get him back, I promise.” She says, giving Castiel a soft smile tainted of tiredness. “We'll find a way.”

 

Castiel does not answer and turns his head back to the horizon. The pine stand proudly on the damp soil, throwing their thin needles to the ground with almost imperceptible sounds like tears falling. The morning rises, and a few timid colors are tainting the sky. A hint of orange, a hint of pink, that bloom in front of Castiel's eyes. He opens his wings behind him to appreciate the caress of the spring wind and he closes his eyes, just for a moment, just to hide in the comfort of his skull, just to watch his grace dance behind his eyelids. He tries to find peace again in those woods that welcomed him like their own offspring and he breathes in the strong scent of nature, makes it roll into his lungs, his heart.

After a moment of windy silence, Charlie speaks, her soft voice tainted of the same shades as the morning, and her grace has a stirring blow of gold and pink. “I read something.” She starts, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Sam had a book with him and I was curious, so I read it when I couldn't sleep. And there was this passage that reminded me a little of you.”

 

Castiel turns to her, intrigued. “Really?” He asks softly, a ribbon of soul wrapping itself around his little sister's shoulders.

 

She turns to him and her warm eyes melt into him. “Yes, of you and Dean.” She whispers and Castiel's heart stops. He swallows the grief back and focuses on Charlie's soft features. She blinks and a gentle smile spreads on her lips. “Do you want me to tell you? But I understand if you refuse, I know-”

 

He puts a hand on her arm. “I'd be happy to hear it.” He says.

 

She has a smile before she gathers her strength and seeks in her celestial memory, before she starts to speak with a haunted voice that seems to come out of the deepest desert, the brightest galaxy and Castiel stares at her with wide open eyes as the words swallow him whole.

_“His love is like the sea._

_It's there on your horizon, as wonderful as it always has been for centuries. You know it's dangerous, you know you shouldn't come close, but it's stronger than you. A part of you is afraid and you wishes you could run away from it, but the other part, the brightest, it's desperate to drown. You know you're lost the second your feet touch the water._

_It moves to you, slowly, carefully and it surrounds you as you walk in deeper and deeper. You wish you were born under this dark water, you wish it was flowing through your veins. You think it's eternal, you think you'll spend the rest of your life breathing in the purest feeling, and your heart is filled with the greatest joy._

_But soon enough, it's taken by a force beyond control and comprehension, and it's already gone. You can't breathe and you fall on your knees in the sand, and you cry until your body is empty like a shell. It feels like the cruelest punishment, and it feels like you'll never be alive again._

_But deep down, you know it will come back to you one day and you'll always welcome this devastating vision with open arms, and it will destroy you once again, and it'll be more painful with every wave._

_Yes, he loves like an ocean. He comes and he leaves, and it's an endless circle of wonder and suffering.”_

 

She stops, breathless. She smiles widely, proud of remembering every word, proud of the way each of them felt powerful like the ocean in the story, how every note rang through her ears. She turns to Castiel and her smile freezes when she sees the tears that started to roll silently on his cheeks covered of shadows.

“You didn't like it.” She opens wide eyes. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

 

Castiel brushes her words off with a soft beat of his wing, as he wipes the shiny pearls away. “No, it was beautiful.” He tries to give her smile back, in vain. “I'll have to read that one.” He whispers as Charlie takes one of her hand out of her pocket and laces her fingers with Castiel's.

 

She puts her head on his shoulder and they observe the sky getting paler in the most perfect silence. Silence that is soon ripped apart when a strong blow of blue light scratches the morning. Castiel and Charlie both gets up in one motion, hearts beating fast.

“What was that?” Charlie asks softly in a breath, staring at the ball of light that shines among the trees.

 

“I don't know.” Castiel answers, walking slowly to the woods, his steps echoing in the field. Charlie follows him silently, her silver blade gripped tight in her hand.

 

They face the forest, frowning in confusion, observing the light fading when a voice clear as bells explodes around them, making both Castiel and Charlie froze of stupor.

“If you could see your faces!” The voice exclaims, tainted of a soft laugh.

 

A silhouette emerges from the woods, celestial soul pulsing hot and cold around the moving shape, black and white wings half spread around it. Light hair flies into the wind and clear eyes illuminate Castiel's field of vision. He holds his breath and when the man is close enough to give him a blinding smile, his heart stops and a name rolls on his tongue, foreign and familiar, bright like sunflowers and powerful like hurricanes.

 

“Aniel?”

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

 

Dean is cleaning his blade. He watches the blood drip from the cold weapon, fall silently in the dirty sink of the motel. He feels the pain in all his bones, they break softly under the flesh and his veins itch under his skin, feeling electric.

And he feels this ocean in his stomach, moving, crashing from the inside, making acid rise to his throat, making him sick. He does not even dare to turn around and look at the broken corpses scattered on the wet tiles. The neon lights are still shining with all their colors and when Dean looks at his reflection in the mirror, red shadows are cast on his tired features. He sighs and tries to breathe calmly, but the air shakes inside him and he keeps himself from throwing up, the weight of his actions falling down on his lungs. He is about to leave and enjoy a long ride of nightmares when Amara's voice resonates low and deep in his head, making him wince.

“Are you happy?” She suddenly says.

 

Dean frowns and turns to her, puzzled. “What?” He asks, not sure if he heard it right.

 

She walks to him and instinctively, he steps back until his spine hits the dirty wall. She tilts her head slightly on her side. “Are you happy now that you are free?” She asks.

 

Dean shakes his head. “What are you talking about?” His expression darkens even more. “You think I'm not loyal to you?”

 

Amara does not answer, just observes him as she narrows her dark eyes, her soul sounding his with violent bolts of lightning. Then, she raises a hand and puts it on Dean's cheek, making him freezes. “I thought that's what you wanted. Being free.” She says, almost softly, but Dean can see the strange storm growing in the background.

 

“Yeah, exactly.” He answers sarcastically.

 

She squares her jaw and presses her lips tight together until they become a thin white wound. “I gave you everything you wanted, Dean.” She says and Dean shudders when his name snaps on her tongue. Seeing the dubious look on his face she gets closer and he can feel her breaths on his skin. “I told you what would happen if you disobeyed.”

 

Dean flinches and worry grows inside his brain in one, brutal motion. He moves to escape her touch and walks into the inner courtyard where the morning is silently rising. Painful and colorful flashes of the night fall on him and he has to close his eyes for a minute to chase them away, as Amara's darkness shapes into walls around him, getting closer and closer every second. There are arms and there are wings, and there are eyes and there are fingers filling his mind and for the first time, they seem to be stronger than the power striking from the woman. But suddenly Amara speaks again, and her words freeze Dean's blood in his veins.

“I think you need a lesson.” She says as she spits her venom on Dean's neck.

 

The demon stops walking, but does not turn around. His hands are shaking and he fears the worst. “I don't understand.” He says and his voice is just a whisper.

 

He now feels her soul stabbing his back in an almost gentle touch, honey dripping from her touch, but he feels the anger pulsing under the thick liquid, he feels the thorns growing in his throat.

 

“Didn't you think I'd see what you have done?” She asks and her fingers wrap themselves around the back of his head, and he shivers.

 

His veins shake. He does not answer at first, dreading the words flowing from her black mouth. He thinks and he thinks, and the terror roots deeper inside him as he turns slowly around, trying to control the colors from swirling in his eyes and aura. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He mutters under his breath and his irises harden, turn into dull stones, as the mask is set in place on his face.

 

Dean does not have the time to think before a sharp smack burns his cheek, making him stumble back. He raises a hand to his stinging flesh and he looks at Amara, shock freezing him where he stands. She stares at him and her veins seem to have turned black under her skin. Her whole body is tense and she clenches her jaw, walking again to him.

 

“Don't lie to me.” She says, punctuating every syllable with a blow of her soul on Dean's sore head.

 

He represses a sob of pain. “I'm sorry. I swear I don't know-”

 

Second violent smack, harder this time. He falls on his back on the hard ground and raises terrified eyes to her, as her voice thunders above him like a black storm. “Don't you think I went back to the other motel? Don't you think I saw everything behind your little game?” She grits her teeth and lightning strikes next to Dean, in the water that starts to boiling furiously, tainted of red. “I told you what would happen if you ever stopped following my orders.” She whispers.

 

“Please-” Dean starts but she dives her claws in his arm, making him bleed as her venom flows in his veins, pure cold pain free inside him.

 

“Do you think you could fool me?” She spits and Dean bites his tongue not to scream. She takes his chin in her hand and forces him to look at her, forces him to dive his clear eyes into hers. She leans towards him and she is just a breath away. Her face is distorted by a twitch of disgust. “His smell was all over the sheets.”

 

Dean opens wide eyes. “No, please it was my fault I-”

 

“It doesn't matter.” She snaps coldly, giving a look around. “He's going to pay for your mistake, Dean.” She says as she grabs his arm and the air is filled with static.

 

She gathers her energy and a heavy black cloud falls of them. Dean screams at the top of his lungs, but it does not stop her. They are already gone.

 

 


	15. You Can't Fight The Friction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title + Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0aoh363PI4

Castiel stares at the apparition with glassy eyes, mouth opening and closing in an endless motion. He cannot say a word anymore and his heart has been thrown into the darkest ocean. It must be a trick, a cruel spell his own mind cast on him, making him see things that are not there. He blinks and blinks but the ghost will not disappear, it stands right here, staring at him with a gentle smile.

 

Castiel turns his head slowly to look at Charlie and all his being shivers when he sees she looks at the phantom too, when he realizes it is the truth. Charlie's eyes are soon soaked in tears of confusion and she makes a step to her brother, brown wings beating slowly in the fresh air.

“Aniel?” She says softly and the name echoes in their ears like a sweet lullaby.

 

The angel with black and white wings only smiles wider and his feathers are blinding in the dull light. “Hi, Charlie.” He whispers and a heavy feeling falls on his tongue, making tears fill his clear eyes. He tries to take a deep breath but it feels like liquid fire in his lungs, as if they became a delicate bottle for the Sun itself.

Charlie has a strangled sob before she throws herself into Aniel's arms. She buries her head in the fabric of his shirt that is soon darkened by her sorrow. Aniel bites his lips to repress the emotions flowing through him. He raises a hand to pass it in her short hair, caressing it slowly with his golden fingers. His blonde hair flies softly in the morning as he holds Charlie a little closer. They stay a moment like this, eyes closed, quick breathing and tangled wings before they step back. Charlie has another silent sound, between laugh and sob, and she stands next to Castiel while this one keeps staring at Aniel like the Universe itself.

“Brother.” Aniel says with a slight nod as one of his wing reaches out to touch Castiel's.

 

Castiel stumbles to him and wraps his arms around his shoulders, nearly standing on his toes for Aniel is just a little taller than him. Castiel's black raven wings curl around them and he keeps him close, not daring to blink, afraid it could vanish once again in his fingers. Aniel has a thin smile and he pats Castiel's back, gently, graces crashing against white bones.

“You were dead.” Castiel mutters as he steps back, hands still on his brother's shoulders, staring at him with incredulous blue eyes filled with salty stars.

 

“I was.” Aniel answers, his soft gray irises diving in Castiel's soul, before he raises them to the faded skies. “But Dad didn't think my time had come, I guess.” He says, drawing a cross on his chest with a sarcastic grin.

 

Castiel blinks. “God brought you back?” He whispers, lost at sea.

 

Aniel has a slight nod. “Don't worry. I'm not the only one.” He says, still staring at his brother with moon colored stones. “Many of our brothers and sisters died these past days, and He is starting to be short of canon fodder.” He says, making a sharp snap with his tongue.

 

Castiel frowns. “But I never heard about them.” His heart has a sick jump and he raises his eyes to look at Aniel. “Dean...”

 

“It wasn't him.” Aniel cuts him, and Castiel sees the unease starting to dance in his grace as he heard the demon's name. “It was _her_. She didn't like having us after her so...” A rock falls on his throat and he swings on his feet, uncomfortable.

 

Castiel swallows hardly and the hatred he feels for this strange woman only roots deeper in his grace. He clenches his jaw. “We have to destroy her.” He snaps coldly, turning to the house behind them. “Let's go inside.”

 

Charlie turns around and starts walking to the wooden walls and blooming red roses, as the two men follow her with silent steps, black feathers against black feathers like a celestial tapestry.

“It's not your fault, Castiel.” Aniel suddenly says, and his brother head turns to him, frowning. “And it's not _his_ fault either. I know that.”

 

“I'm not asking you to forgive him.” Castiel says, his thoughts flying to Dean, who is wandering somewhere far away from here, blood rushing through his ears, dripping from his rough skin. Castiel looks at Aniel, a feeling as hard as marble on his tongue. “I'm sorry.” He says, his grace turning into a luminous ribbon that slides on Aniel's wings. “I never wanted this to happen.”

 

“I know.” His brother murmurs to the wind. “I'm not stupid enough to blame you or him. But I don't think I can ever forget.” He admits, a shiver shaking his feathers from deep black ink to blinding white snow.

 

Flashes of the night where he found Aniel's motionless body resurface in Castiel's mind and he is moved by a wave of disgust and grief. He cannot help but remember those tattered feathers scattered all across the dirty floor, the blood spurting like a fountain, the last scream of his brother distorting his features. He remembers digging the grave in the soft soil, and burying the broken body among the moss and soft grass, he remembers his tears and his despair. Castiel shakes his head and shivers. “I understand.” He says, folding his own wings a bit tighter.

 

Aniel sighs deeply. He looks at Charlie, whose red head shines like a beacon in front of them. “There's something else.” He says and Castiel's whole body stiffens. “I heard them talking. They want her back in Heaven, they want her to fight for them.”

 

“She doesn't want to come back.” Castiel answers, worry still piercing in his thoughts about his little sister.

 

Aniel's head snaps to him. “What?” His face darkens. “Does she know what will happen?”

 

Castiels nods. “Yes. But she said she'd rather become human.” He sighs and centuries flow through him. “I tried to make her change her mind, but she will not listen to me.” He turns to give his brother a tired smile. “Maybe you could try.”

 

“Nah, I don't think she'd listen either. She has always been kind of stubborn.” He has a smile full of nostalgia. “Knew it the minute she was created.”

 

Castiel cannot help the wave of memories rushing to him. “She looks like you.” He says, pushing his brother with the curve of his wing.

 

Aniel answers with the same motion before the edges of his grace detects a grayish cloud in the house. He freezes. “Lucifer is still here?” He asks behind his teeth.

 

“Yes.” Castiel says in a breath, and doubt starts growing inside him. Now that Aniel speaks of the Devil, he finds it even stranger that he is still living with them. He spent weeks pretending their company was beyond unbearable, that he was missing his dear Hell more than everything, but he never tried to leave.

 

Castiel frowns but before he can say more, they are facing the house. Charlie went inside and is now coming out again, the rest of the group following her with smokes of tiredness floating above them. When they see Aniel, Sam and Eileen both open wide eyes, thrown into the same astonishment as Castiel a few minutes ago. They did not know the angel for long, but the few times they saw him fluttering in the motel room, a strange sympathy immediately drawn them to this odd creature. Sam claps his back with a wide smile, visibly happy of seeing this celestial friend back from the dead. Eileen hugs him, her frail silhouette crashing against his immense shadow.

Castiel knows she has a special bond with his brother, in the way their souls merge together in a warm, colorful pond. In the shorts hours they spent together, Aniel found the incredible way to teach her how to fly, in every sense possible. Apparently, her wings were not the problem, it was rather something buried deep inside her, the thought they were meant to be useless, forever. Once Aniel made her break those chains around the energy flowing in her feathers, it was only a matter of a few lessons. A week after, she could already disappear and reappear a few feet away, a blinding smile on her face. But she never had the chance to show him, until today.

On the other side, Lucifer has the same shocked look, but far away from Sam and Eileen's pulsing joy. He looks at Aniel with haunted eyes, mouth open of surprise, a frown marking his forehead. When Aniel walks to him and shakes his hand, his grace snaps yellow and red, circling like a giant bird around his neon halo. Some kind of fear, and confusion moves in his cold stare and when Aniel moves back, he still stares at him with lips pressed tight together.

 

Aniel turns to Castiel, his gray eyes as soft as the rain behind a stained glass window. “I suppose-” He starts before stopping, searching his words carefully. “I suppose Dean's not there?” He asks softly.

 

Castiel heart jumps and gets stuck in his throat. “No…” He swallows down, a cloud on his chest. “He's not here. We couldn't save him yet.” He says, the poor hope he felt seeing Aniel fading away suddenly.

 

Aniel's eyes darken and he puts a gentle hand on Castiel's shoulder. “We'll find a way. There must be some kind of spell to cure him, or we could lock him for a few months until he's himself again.”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “No, no we don't need that.” He says and he would almost smile in front of his brother's words. He almost forgot the innocent cruelty of his brethren. “He's out of control when he's close to her. Otherwise, he's the one we know.”

 

“How would you know?” Aniel asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I.. uhm...” Castiel starts, a heavy blush rising to his cheeks as he swings on his feet. “I saw him last night.”

 

A mischievous glimpse appears in Aniel's eyes but he does not say anything about it. He turns around to look at Sam. “We'll find a way to save your brother. All Heaven is after Amara. She doesn't have any chance to escape.” He says and his words seem to soften the worry piercing in Sam's irises.

 

Castiel opens his mouth but before anything can cross the bridge of his lips, a deafening thunderclap explodes around them with a sound of shattering glass and the sky is suddenly tainted in blood-red, a thick rain falling down on them. The wind is suddenly as strong as a thousands hurricanes and lightning strikes, creating static on the angels' wings, their feathers standing on end. Charlie shudders and wraps her arms around her chest, glancing nervously at the skies. The pines bend and break on the horizon, dust flies above the ground, the Earth shakes.

Castiel shivers and is about to guide his family inside when a flash of black light makes him blind for a second. When he opens them again, his heart stops and sinks in his chest.

 

Amara is standing in front of them, black clothes clinging to her body, dark blazing eyes creating fire in their veins. Castiel steps back, his wings wide open behind him when a low broken murmur makes him freeze where he stands, turning him into a statue of marble. His name is whispered once and twice and again and again in a hoarse voice he knows better than anyone.

He blinks and he sees. Next to Amara, there is a beaten, pale, suffering Dean whose legs are shaking under him as if the weight of the world had fallen on his shoulders. He gives Castiel a desperate look and his bright eyes shine in the dull light. Blood flows from his nose and lips, bruises bloom on his skin. His body trembles and his soul is darker than ever.

 

Amara makes a step to them and as if a force stronger than the Universe itself was linked by a thin thread to him, Dean follows her, wincing of pain and frustration, his feet moving as he tries to fight back, in vain. Amara's eyes fly on them, fall on Aniel, frown, travel quickly to Lucifer who freezes completely, before they land on Castiel.

 

A smile full of contempt appears on her lips. “There you are.” She whispers.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

 

Castiel is about to make a step to them, jaw and fists clenched, when Sam stands in his way like a mountain rising in the middle of the road. The angel tries to push him away but Sam would not move, staring at him with eyes as strong as the wind.

“Cas, wait.” He says, making him step back once again, a hand on his shoulder. “It's a trap.” He says, all his limbs trembling. Castiel can see in the painful colors of his aura that he wants to turn back more than anything, that he has to keep himself from running to his brother like he would run into the sun. “We can't fight her, not now.” He says, anger pulsing red in his veins.

 

A silver blade appears in Castiel's hand. “I can.” He says behind his teeth, wings spreading wide, sharp black knives thrown into the sky, the pale sun sliding lazily on them.

 

Aniel suddenly appears in his field of vision, worry swirling in his irises. “Castiel, you could get us all killed.” He says, hiding the horizon from Castiel with large white feathers. “Whatever she wants, we can't fight. We have to wait for our brothers and sisters to come.”

 

“Then call them!” Castiel shouts with a lump on his throat.

 

Aniel shakes his head. “It's not that easy. Many of them are hurt or dead, and the others have been hunting her for weeks.” He stares at Castiel with a compassionate look. “There's nothing we can do.” He says, throwing his fresh soul to his brother, hoping it will soothe him. “I'm sorry.”

 

A sound close to a growl rises in Castiel's throat and he steps back, looking back at Amara. This one is staring at him with eyes as black as the road. His blood gets colder and he feels his grace rushing through his veins, illuminating his skin, wrapping itself around his muscles, filling him with a powerful energy.

But it only shines brighter when Amara is close enough to bring Dean with her. The demon looks miserable, weakened and empty, a severe bruise spreading on his cheek, blood flowing from a bad wound lost somewhere in his hair. His eyes travel on his family and they are soon filled with tears of relief to see them all alive.

 

Next to Castiel, Charlie is shaking, her thin legs craving to run to her friend and take him far away from this evil creature. She keeps having small jolts, as if her soul was pushing her to Dean, but her body knew the danger, and was keeping her where she was standing. Next to her, Sam clenched his jaw and Castiel sees how hard it is for him to observe the scene without doing anything. He spent years on his own, suffering, crying and the short time he passed with his brother brought light back into his being. And now, he has to see the madness taking control of the green eyes that are so familiar to him. Eileen holds his hand tight, her knuckles turning white and she keeps throwing half worried, half hurt glances to Dean, her short wings opening slightly on her sides, estimating her chances of saving him without getting killed.

On the other side, Lucifer has a numb look, rather focusing on Amara's evil shadow than Dean's broken one. There is some kind of strange electricity running between them, and Castiel can see the green neon threads crackling between the Devil and the goddess, as if secret words were whispered in each other's minds. Next to him, Aniel dares a glance to Dean and when the demon opens wide eyes to his sight, the angel freezes and looks away, ill-at-ease. From the green eyes to the strong hands, everything reminds him to the one who tortured him to death, turning his wings into a sick heap of blood and feathers. No matter how hard he tries to forget, and how hard he focuses on the soft sensations of his wings on his back, he just cannot get over the nauseous feeling moving in his stomach.

 

Dean's eyes traveled all along their little group and they finally fall on Castiel. When he sees his angel again, he tries to move, tries to get away from Amara's grip. He shakes and struggles like a madman, his soul rising and crashing again and again in black waves against Amara, who barely blinks when the poison falls on her. She just gives him a disappointed pout before she pushes him and he falls hardly on the cold ground with a painful sob. His limbs tremble and he starts crawling away from her, tears of agony rolling down his cheeks. Castiel suddenly knows Amara did more harm to him than he can see.

 

Before the others can stop him, he jumps away from them and runs to Dean who tries to get back on his feet. Castiel hears Sam shouting to him but he ignores him. He closes the space between them and suddenly, Dean's heavy head falls on his chest as the demon's sobs fill his lungs.

“Dean are you OK?” Castiel asks, his grace having a violent blow of silver light as it collapses back against Dean's. His hands find their way to his short hair and he makes Dean raise his head to look at him. His cold green eyes are filled with pain and he mutters incomprehensible words to the angel.

 

“You- you-” Dean starts, before a violent wave of blood flows from his mouth and he has to stop to spit it out. He focuses back on Castiel's soft features and his heart has a wild jump in his chest. “You have to go, Cas.” He murmurs, his hand gripping Castiel's jacket.

 

“I'm not going anywhere.” The angel answers and his grace already flies, shaped into a sea as it dives under Dean's skin to heal him. It fights back against the black bumps on his veins, the purple bruises the darkness left on his bones. It is strong, this odd liquor hiding in Dean's chest, this sickening river lapping in his ears. But Castiel is stronger and he unleashes horses of blue rage against the evil force to chase it away. A breath after, Dean's skin is back to normal and his breathing is slow, if not just a bit terrified.

 

“You don't understand.” Dean says and it shakes Castiel's heart, to hear this low voice again, and he knows every rough tone, every sharp edge, every song flowing like honey in his ears. Dean frowns and he stands up with Castiel's help, diving his distraught irises in his. “You're not safe anymore. You have to go as far as possible! Now!”

 

“I don't understand.” Castiel answers, shaking his head, narrowing his eyes of confusion.

 

Dean starts pushing him back to his family, his hands on Castiel's chest, soul growing black around him. “She's here for you, Cas. You can't stay.” He says in a strangled whisper.

 

“What?” Castiel asks, puzzled, his heart starting to beat furiously like a bird trapped under his flesh. He glances at Amara behind Dean's shoulder and sees her clenching his jaw, all his features becoming as tense as a bow, as dark smokes start to form at her feet.

 

They are now close enough to the rest of the group and Dean pushes Castiel to Aniel, pain visibly striking his heart like lightning when he sees Castiel's incomprehension painted all across his face. “You have to go.” He repeats before he turns to Aniel. “Please, take him as far as you can.” He begs, ice crystals stabbing his veins from the inside.

 

Aniel gives him a confused look before he steps back from Dean and opens his wings on his sides, about to beat them with strength as Castiel protests and throws desperate looks to Dean. But before the angels can disappear, a voice thunders around them in the field.

“ **NO ONE IS LEAVING!** ” Amara shouts and whispers into their skulls and suddenly, an invisible dome falls above their heads, a lid of shadows. Aniel's body is already starting to fade to fly away but the spell makes it snap back into one piece and he falls on his feet, dizzy. He looks around, confused, his wings covered by a shiver.

 

The curse shines orange and yellow, electric above them as it spreads over the whole town. It falls heavy on them and it makes them suffocate, makes tears rise to their eyes. Dean looks at Amara, paralyzed. His weakness is the cause of all of this and his mistake will cost him more than he can imagine. Amara stares back at him and an evil smile spreads on her blue lips. Dean glances at his brother and his heart beats faster as Sam answers with a terrified step to him.

“What's happening?” He asks as his tall shadow falls on Dean, his clear eyes traveling from Amara and her smokes to the spell getting brighter and brighter, turning the sky into a sick orange color that makes his head ache.

 

“I don't know.” Dean answers and he dreads the answer more than everything. He turns again to look at Castiel and he has to swallow the worry back when he crosses blue eyes.

 

“Why did you say she was there for me?” The angel asks and Sam turns to his brother, frowning.

 

“She knows I saw you last night.” Dean answers in a breath, his eyes fixed strong on Castiel, his soul still raised like a shield between them and Amara. “I- I don't understand how she knew… It's impossible!” He says in a breath, eyes suddenly lost into space. “How could…?”

 

“I believe you.” Castiel answers and cold sweat covers his back like a veil.

 

“Cas, I'm sorry...” Dean starts but the angel brushes his words with a beat of his wings.

 

“It's not your fault. I shouldn't have accepted.” His eyes dive into Dean's. The words feel wrong on his tongue, acid and thick and black. “It was a mistake and she wants me to pay the price.” His voice softens. “In some way, I can understand her.”

 

Dean shakes his head, incredulous. “Are you hearing yourself?” He makes a step closer and takes Castiel's face in his hands, making the angel shiver. “I put you in danger and now I have to pay for that.”

 

Castiel does not answer and stares at the ground as Dean steps back, standing between him and Sam. The demon is tense like a bow, his silhouette reaching to the sky like a golden arrow. He stares at Amara with eyes like deep blurry ponds and Castiel cannot help but feel the grief growing inside him. He may have suffered these past weeks, but it is probably nothing compared to what Dean must have endured.

He cannot even imagine what it was like to feel his free will fade away suddenly, his mind driven by blood lust and hunger while his hands were shaking, his soul crawling inside his body as he was ripping hearts and lungs. He cannot even imagine what a life it was, if it was something he could call a life. He cannot imagine Dean enjoying his meal as the raw meat on his tongue reminds him of the flesh he destroyed an hour ago. He cannot imagine Dean sleeping when hundreds of voices haunted him night after night, as monstrous flashes illuminated his distraught head.

 

Castiel shakes his head and he knows that no matter if they survive, and start living after that, Dean will never be the same and a part of himself will forever feel guilty for not saving him when he could, when the darkness was not written into his blood yet. He looks at Amara and the apparition does not give him his look back. She is preoccupied by another angel, one with black and white wings.

“Why are you alive?” She snaps with acid poison in her voice, electricity running on her hands.

 

Aniel makes a step and spits a her feet, causing a dark glare from her. “Next time you want to kill someone, make sure God isn't behind them!” He says, smirking through the hatred.

 

Amara's face twitches and she has a pout of disgust. “God?” She has a small, cruel laugh. “You think it's God that brought you back?”

 

Aniel does not blink and gives her a numb look. “Yeah, He must have been wrong when He said you were clever.” His wings beat once, angrily. “Do you know He's right there? And that He just pretends you don't exist?”

 

Amara clenches her fists and gets closer, making all of them move back, except for Aniel who stands like a statue of ice in front of her. “He's weak and He hides because He's afraid of me!” She spits, anger flowing at the speed of light in her black glowing veins.

 

Aniel has an amused laugh. “You think?” He leans to her, colder than marble covered by snow. “Or maybe it's just because He doesn't care about you. You're just another ant under His foot and He just feel pity for you.” He tilts his head slightly. “A speck of dust isn't going to bother him.”

 

Amara's eyes snap to a muddy brown, filling the orbits whole, swirling furiously. Despite her boiling emotions, she controls herself and it is with a strangely calm voice that she answers. “Right, but if He's as brave as He pretends to be, then why does He send his toys instead of punishing me himself?” A wide smile spreads slowly on her mouth. “If He's as powerful as you think, then what is He waiting for? That I destroy all his Creation, all his cherished pets?”

 

Aniel freezes and for the first time, he seems unsure. “He send the army He created himself to defeat you. You'll have to face His wrath.” He says behind his teeth.

 

Amara has a mocking laugh. “Oh, really? And where is this army as we speak?” She gives a look around, throwing a ribbon of darkness to the skies that shiver gray. She stares back at Aniel and gets even closer, a breath away. The angel's face freezes and all his limbs are tense, ready to dive a silver blade in her body of shadows. Amara smirks. “That's right, I killed all your little brothers and sisters and now your poor Father has to build them back again, pieces by pieces.”

 

“You're gonna pay for what you've done.” Aniel snaps and an angelic growl rises in his grace.

 

Amara's hand moves suddenly, and it lands on the curve of Aniel's wing. He flinches and tries to move back but she holds it firmly and he winces when her nails dive under the flesh. She walks closer to him. “Death spares no one on the battlefield. And angels are the first to fall.” She whispers in his ear before she steps back. “Now, you should move away. Or maybe I should call my Knight back and tell him to break those beautiful wings of yours once again?”

 

Fear takes Aniel's heart in sharp claws and he jerks away, folding his wings neatly behind his back, grace pulsing fast under his skin, tears of frustration rising in his clear eyes.

Amara smiles. “Good boy.” She whispers again and the angel lowers his head to look at the ground, ashamed and boiling of anger, as she passes by him to approach the rest of the group.

 

They observe her with narrowed eyes and shaking hands. Castiel can feel the energy running through their veins as she walks slowly like a panther to them, fangs and claws shining in the dull light. Spring sings in her hair, making dark waves float around her sharp features as the pines break with gruesome noises behind her. Blood flows loudly in their ears and they clench their fists, ready to fight a battle they already know they are losing.

Amara has an another irritating amused smile, as if the thought of killing a family by snapping her fingers was as light and joyful as the morning breeze. But behind the slight curve of her lips, there is something else. And odd feeling that shakes Dean's guts, something as old as the world itself.

 

She faces them and her long black coat floats in the wind, enfolding her silhouette like leathery wings. “And I suppose you have an explanation for this?” She says, her head turning to Aniel, covering the angel with a smile tainted of a burning exasperation.

 

Dean freezes and glances at the angel who gives him his look back, hatred swirling dull in his gray irises. He is confused in every way. He remembers every detail of the massacre he left behind in this old barn. The crumpled, broken wings, the blood and the grace merging together in a disgusting river. The silent scream painted all across the angel's face, the life fading away with every feather Dean ripped apart. There is just no way he made it out alive.

Dean makes a step and starts opening his mouth, trying to explain, trying to soothe the wrath beating in Amara's whole being like a furious, mad animal. He has to protect his family, at any cost. He is the one who put Castiel and the others in danger, and now he has to face the consequences of his actions. If only he was stronger, he would have walked away from this cursed motel and Castiel would have never seen him. If only he had not speak to the angel and if only he had let him go for good. None of this would have happened. Dean takes a deep breath and he tries to speak, when he sees.

 

Amara is not talking to him. She is not even _looking_ at him. Dean follows her stare and his blood freezes in his veins, his whole body stiffens like enfolded by the coldest winter.

She is looking at Lucifer and he looks back at her, electric threads running wild between the two evil forces. For a moment, Dean's heart stops in his chest and he thinks it is impossible. That he is imagining things. And then the knots in his brain are untied and he realizes the enemy has always been there.

 

**X**

 

“I don't understand.” Castiel blurts, his eyes traveling from Amara to his brother, to fall on Dean who gives him the same confused expression.

 

Lucifer ignores them and dives his eyes into Amara's. “I don't know how it's possible. I chose him because I thought nobody would notice he's gone.” He says, jaw clenched, wings having a violent beat behind him. “I didn't know my dear Dad would bring him back.”

 

Amara stares at him without blinking. “This was not supposed to happen.” She says coldly.

 

“A deal is a deal.” Lucifer snaps, eyes throwing sparks of electricity at her.

 

“I know.” Amara answers with the same tone. “After all, mistakes are rather common among your species, no?”

 

Lucifer grits his teeth but still follows her steps when she moves again to them. Castiel follows their every motions, a lump on his throat. Every detail of the scene feels odd, in near slow-motion, and he could almost see the specks of dust flying in front of his eyes, golden particles shining in the timid rays of sun. He holds his breath for too long and his lungs start to ache, burn and collapse inside him.

 

“Lucifer.” Aniel murmurs next to him and Castiel realizes he is close to him, shoulders brushing against each other's, wings tangled together. His brother is shaking of a poisonous astonishment.

The Devil raises his head to look at him, and Castiel sees. That he tricked them all along, that his behavior was too strange to be normal and he curses himself for he should have seen that Lucifer had become a puppet on loose strings long ago. He bites his tongue to the blood when he remembers the way Lucifer insisted to stay with them, when he was complaining all day long. The way Lucifer's story shifted in a moment of inattention. The way his spell, that was known as one of the most powerful ever created, did not work. And now Castiel realizes it never did. The curse never protected them, only gave them the illusion they were safe. He clenches his fists, trembling of frozen rage.

 

“Don't look at me like that.” Lucifer suddenly says with a look full of pity. He has a little sigh, as if he were falsely annoyed. “I suppose I owe you some explanations.”

 

“How could you-” Aniel starts but Castiel makes him step back and Charlie grabs his arm, standing between the Devil and him like a small, bright shield of light. Her small hand finds Aniel's and Castiel sees her grace shaping into colorful bubbles around him, trying to make his anger go away.

 

“I knew about the plan way before you called me.” Lucifer says, his snake eyes finding Castiel's. The dark haired angel's breathing stops again. “Everything went the way I wanted it to be. You called me and asked for my help. I let you and your boy toy believe you had saved our dear Sam.” He turns to Dean with a terrifying smile. “And then I help you becoming the monster you are today.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Dean snaps, his hands shaking of incomprehension and rage.

 

Lucifer has a small laugh. “I chose the motels you visited. I made sure the purest souls were the ones you'd kill. I watch you drown deeper and deeper and forget everything you were before.” His eyes fly briefly to Castiel before they fall back on the demon. “But there was only one thing you couldn't get over. So I picked a special prey for you and you crossed the line you promised yourself never to.” His head turns suddenly to Aniel and the angel freezes under the shock, eyes soon filled with fluorescent tears. “As I said, I never thought anyone would notice your absence, brother. After all, you're nothing remarkable.”

 

“You were a part of her twisted plan since the beginning?” Sam shouts in a strangled voice. The poor dull trust he felt towards the archangel disintegrates in an explosion of powder and ash.

 

Lucifer ignores him and turns to Castiel. “But you-” He opens wide, mad eyes. “You were always the biggest problem, spreading trouble wherever you'd go. I thought about erasing you, but apparently, not everyone agreed with the plan.” He gives Amara a quick glance. “We decided you'd be more useful alive.”

 

“Useful?” Castiel repeats, incredulous. “I don't have to be useful to you or anyone else. I'm not a pawn on your game.”

 

Lucifer gives him a compassionate look. “It's exactly what you are, _brother_.” He says, almost gently. “So I had to find a way to dissuade you from searching him. I gave you false leads, and everytime you were coming too close, I'd do anything to slow you down and when you'd arrive...” He moves his hands in front of him, fingers spread. “He'd be long gone.” He whispers. “I thought you'd give up, but apparently, you're more stubborn than I thought.”

 

“Do you realize what you've done, Lucifer?” Charlie suddenly shouts, wings open wide behind her, covered of gold. “You killed our brother!” She says, and Aniel's eyes darken again, covered by a black veil.

 

Lucifer looks at her for a second. “Did I?” He turns to Castiel. “Or maybe I should remind you who the real killer is?” He looks at Dean and his mad smile spreads on his whole face. The demon shivers and lowers his head, guilt flowing like blood in his ears. Lucifer smirks and stares at Castiel again. “Should I remind you of what your dear lover did to our _brother_? How he ripped his precious wings like he could have done on you last night?” He asks and Castiel's whole body stiffens. “Tell me you didn't think about it!”

 

Castiel does not answer and Dean's heart bleeds only harder and he feels like a pale corpse, haunting this soil with no other purpose than to try to feel alive again. “You used us.” Dean whispers, empty of all his strength.

 

“Of course I did.” Lucifer answers without blinking. “You know who I am.”

 

“You betrayed your family!” Aniel shouts as he keeps himself from jumping on his brother, wings tense and shaking like falling stars.

 

Lucifer's look hardens. “What family? The one who cast me out of Heaven for what I was?”

 

“For what you've done.” Aniel answers, clenching his jaw. “Not for who you were.”

 

“It's the same.” Lucifer snaps before he tilts his head on his side, soul like thick smokes around him. “But maybe you could ask you dear brother what he thinks of our little family, hm?” He says as he dives his eyes into Castiel's.

 

Castiel refuses to play his game. “You betrayed your family.” He repeats slowly, blinking quickly, emotions flowing free through him. “And for what?” He asks, disappointed and hurt by the hope that left him like the sun at night.

 

“The usual.” Lucifer answers. “Power.” He spreads one of his wing on his side, and Castiel notices the immaculate light gray feathers, following the motion with a soft rustle. There are no more burns, no more visible bones. Just grace and pride. “It's worth anything.” Lucifer adds, observing the pale shine of his wings under the raw light. Then, he turns to Amara and his hand reaches out to her. Castiel follows the move, puzzled, and when the woman's palm touches Lucifer's skin, a black ball of light appears between them, radiates heat and soft waves like heartbeats of darkness. It dives suddenly under his skin and he raises his eyes to the skies, taken by a powerful feeling. The blackness enters his veins, wraps itself around them, caresses them with long, silky fingers. It drowns in Lucifer's heart and he breathes again, feels again and lives again. His wings glimmer for a second, covered by a dark wind, before Amara takes back her power and he lowers his head back, still shaking under the poison.

 

“You're ready to kill us to get your dose?” Dean asks, incredulous, emerging from his heavy stupor, the events racing too fast before his eyes, and he cannot follow the move anymore.

 

Lucifer blinks and has a sigh of pleasure, before he blinks and looks at the demon with a smirk. “I'm sure you have more noble reasons to kill, am I right?” He asks and Dean shuts his mouth, ashamed.

 

Before any of them can snap their anger again, Amara, who was in the shadows for a moment, makes a step and enters the light, the fading morning making a halo of white thorns above her head. She puts a hand on Lucifer's shoulder and the Devil turns to give her a questioning look. “Don't forget why we are here.” She says before she looks at Dean.

 

Her stare shakes something awful in the demon and he surprises himself by starting to move to her. There is still this energy, this link between them that shines like a ribbon of fire and water, a tornado shaped creature, a black hole he is sucked into. Something falls heavy on his throat and he fights back against the darkness invading him slowly, poisoning him until his eyes turn black again. He feels his hands shaking, his mind becoming blurry and illuminated of red fresh blood and raw meat. Amara is calling him back into her cold arms and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to focus on everything but the song escaping her closed lips. His blade feels like a fire on his waist and he closes his eyes, a whole battle creating Chaos in his brain. He is an elastic band about to snap and his blood boils silver inside him.

 

A soft sensation brushes against his arm and he opens his eyes again to see Castiel's wing curling around them. The angel gives him a worried glance, his blue eyes moving like a sea during the storm. Dean gathers his strength and it is with eyes as cold as the ocean that he looks back at Amara.

“Leave, now.” He says, almost growling. “I won't say it twice.”

 

Amara gives him an amused smile. “Or what?” She steps closer. “You know what will happen if you don't obey.” Her eyes darken. “They die.”

 

“I won't let you.” He snaps, his blade suddenly in his hand like a trophy made of bone and screams.

 

“You don't have the power to fight me, Dean.” She answers with a scornful look, and the night starts falling down on them, slowly, carefully. Dean's soul shakes and he gets closer to Castiel, instinctively pushing the angel behind him, before he does the same with his brother and Charlie, who take Eileen and Aniel with them. In a second, Dean is standing alone, facing her, except for the stubborn angel with black wings that keeps fighting for his dark star.

 

He grips his weapon tighter and his mind goes black, ready to see her glimmering blood flow. “I'm not afraid of you.” He says and the earth trembles under his feet.

 

Amara has a soft laugh that covers the pines with a blue fire. Dean hears the forest scream and howl as the trees fall down with deafening sounds. “I think you will change your mind.” She says and a wave of dread crashes down on the demon.

 

She turns to Lucifer and nods slightly to him. He answers with a short blow of his grace and turns to them. Dean barely has the time to breathe before Amara moves one of her hands and all the family is projected across the field. Sam and Eileen lands next to each other, as well with Charlie and Aniel, three pairs of wings broken under the shock, brown, gray and black feathers floating in the cold air as Sam's silent scream fills Dean's soul.

He turns to see Castiel looking at him and his black wings spread behind him like giant sails of darkness. The largest feathers rise above Dean's head and the sun slides on them, turning them into a deep blue that shines softly with different shades of night. Dean gives him a mesmerized look before he turns back to Amara, his eyes snapping to thick black ink to match Castiel's wings, except there is no light in his irises full of wrath.

 

Amara has another smile, throwing pity like embers to Dean. “I hope you'll learn this lesson, Dean.” She says to the breeze.

 

She makes a small sign to Lucifer and the Devil suddenly stares at Castiel. A ball of golden light appears in his hand, flows through his fingers. The light shines and shines and Dean notices the same glow under Castiel's skin, creating veins filled with gold. The vision reminds him of something, but he cannot remember it exactly and even if he keeps digging in his memory, it fades away everytime.

Suddenly, Castiel starts walking to the two monsters. Dean's heart has a sick jump and he turns to the angel, incredulous. He tries to follow him, but his feet are stuck on the cold ground. When he looks at Castiel, he sees the sweat rolling in pearls on his face, the fear and agony deforming his features as he fights back against something much stronger than him. His wings are tense behind him as he is getting closer and closer. Dean shouts his name and Castiel stops for a second, his head turning back to him, pain making his eyes shine. And then he continues his walk to the Great Death.

 

Once he is close enough, he gives Lucifer a hateful look. “What have you done?” He asks, shaking, his grace ringing in his ears.

 

Lucifer approaches to put a hand on his shoulder and Castiel stiffens. “Remember that one time you asked for my help, brother?” Lucifer asks and when he sees the confused frown on Cas' face, a smirk twists his face and he shakes his head. “You were so desperate… You'd have done anything to help him and you made a deal without knowing the price.”

 

“Lucifer, no!” Charlie shouts behind them as she starts to run to them, blade in hand, shining painfully. “Stop!”

 

Another move of Amara's hand and the frail angel flies again to crash in the dust. Castiel turns back to his brother. “I don't understand.” He says and fear shakes all his limbs.

 

“You're about to.” Lucifer says, excitement piercing in his mad voice as he leans to Castiel. “I really hope he was worth the sacrifice. Otherwise, you're going to regret the day you called me.” He says as he steps back, a brief flash of doubt illuminating his face.

 

“What are you talking-” Castiel starts and suddenly it is all black.

 

Dean screams until his lungs burn. He tries to move but he is prisoner of a cage of ice and fire. He scratches the air and scream again and again, but the walls will never crash down. He falls on his knees and he cries, painful sobs making him suffocate. Behind him, Charlie's grace spurts out into a blow of grief as she crawls in Aniel's arms to hide her face. Her brother stares at Castiel, speechless. Sam holds Eileen against him and they shiver, frozen inside. Dean falls on the ground and the scene repeats itself like an endless circle in his mind.

 

Amara snapping her fingers with a deafening thunderclap.

Castiel's wings bursting into a cloud of blood and feathers, scattered in the strong wind.

 


	16. Soapy Lethe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In Greek mythology, Lethe was one of the five rivers of the underworld of Hades. Also known as the 'Ameles potamos' (river of unmindfulness), the Lethe flowed around the cave of Hypnos and through the Underworld, where all those who drank from it experienced complete forgetfulness."

Castiel is sitting in the bathtub, numb eyes lost into space. He shivers uncontrollably as he wraps his arms around his legs, pressed against his chest. He watches the soapy white water flow around him, move in circles around his trembling body. The blue shines dull in his tired irises and the flowers growing around him smell like death and blackness. He closes his eyes and bites his lips once again, pushing the suffering away, standing like a speck of dust in front of the ocean.

He wishes he could swallow it whole, this cloudy water. Let it fill his body, flow in his empty, itching veins under his skin that turned white under the shock and pain. He wishes he could find some clear poison in a pretty glass bottle, and he would sip it softly, feeling the acid fizzing on his black tongue like champagne. He wishes he could drink to death and get high until his flesh is as light as the sky above the house. But right now, his body feels so heavy, so useless, miserable and coarse. A clumsy heap of light that cannot stand on its feet for a second.

The water burns his skin but he barely blinks when the tears rise to his eyes. He laces his fingers together and he hears the bones break a little. He feels the cold emotion that runs down his spine, that floats above his face like a halo. The emptiness that makes him shudder. Because something is missing. A piece of him that disappeared in a breath. He feels it in the sore muscles of his back, in the void between his shoulder blades, in the way there are no more rustles and songs behind him everytime he moves.

 

Everything happened so fast. A minute he was standing, the second he was down on his knees, a dark pain blooming in his celestial flesh. He stared at the ground with wide open eyes, his fingers digging in the mud as he tried to breathe, in vain. The sharp spell dived deeper and deeper, finding the roots of his power. The blow that blinded him only made him fall, but it was nothing compared to the ache flowing in his veins right after.

He was panting and he felt a thick sirup flowing under his shirt, staining the fabric, dripping under him. He dared to look at it and his heart froze when he saw the almost black blood shining dull under the pale light. He was not hearing anything anymore, except for the static murmuring in his ear, his grace crying inside him as the biggest part of the blue light had just been ripped apart. In a breath, his body became nothing more than a shell abandoned on the sand and it created a void inside his chest.

He heard Charlie sobbing and he felt different souls bleeding around him, but Dean's scream was the one that pierced his bubble of shock. His hands dived deeper in the soil, his limbs shaking under him, incapable of carrying him. He lost his balance and it felt like a whole storm blowing on his back, pushing him deeper into the soil. He felt the first worried sob growing in his throat as his vision started to get blurry on the edges, black and burning. He blinked and the whole world was gone, except for Dean who crawled to him, tears streaming down his face, leaving strange patterns on his skin.

Castiel tried a smile, for a reason he ignored, maybe just because of this bright face in front of him. But the pain soon faded it away. He winced and tried to understand what happened to him. He raised gentle eyes to Dean but the demon kept avoiding them and his hands trembled like liquid gold around his face. His aura darkened until it was nothing but a black hole swirling around his body. Castiel gave him a confused look and he wanted to tell him everything was going to be alright, that he should not cry, that he saw far worse from this. But the pain rooted deeper and deeper and the doubt invaded his thoughts. Dean's eyes kept fluttering from him to something _behind_ him and he forced Dean to look at him with weak hands gripping his jacket.

 

“I'm fine.” Castiel muttered, the two sharp words causing his strength to spurt out of him.

 

Dean finally looked at him and the despair and grief in his eyes made Castiel's heart stop. Until then, he tried to ignore the loud roars of the pain in his back, but when he saw the haunted expression painted on Dean's face, the horror that widened his green irises, he lost all faith. Castiel's smile disappeared and the last pieces of his energy exploded inside him. The ache burst suddenly and he repressed a scream when it felt like a wolf was biting his spine. He tried to turn around but Dean's hand fell heavy on the back of his head, making him unable to see the cause of this hot pain.

“What's the matter?” Castiel asked behind his teeth as he saw the rest of the family walking slowly to him. Charlie's hands were on her mouth and terror filled her eyes, while Aniel's wings folded suddenly behind him, staring at his brother, speechless. Sam and Eileen were looking at him the same way, shock freezing their words. Castiel frowned and turned again to the demon, whose sorrow bit his skin. “Dean, what's wrong?” He asked, panic growing inside him.

 

“Cas...” He started but his voice was low and husky, just like a whisper. He closed his eyes. “I'm sorry.” He blurted, words strangled by astonishment. Castiel tried to move but his old bones would not let him.

 

“What are you talking about?” He said and Dean shook his head, biting his lip as his whole aura crashed down on him. Castiel was about to add something when the wind blew and it started raining.

 

It started raining black and Castiel raised confused eyes when a soft drop fell on his face, before it landed on his lap. Dean tried to keep him from looking again at the skies but it was too late, he stood up and _he_ _saw_.

 

Black, glossy feathers raining down on him, falling on his hair, his shoulders, his eyes. He blinked a few times, confused as Dean held his breath. Castiel raised a shaking hand and caught one between his fingers. He observed the soft thing stained of dark blood and fresh ribbons of grace until he understood. His eyes opened wide as he stretched his wings behind him.

Except nothing happened this time. Not soft sound of leaves in the wind, no air flowing between the feathers, no heat, no cold on them. And no sharp swords, and no gentle curves. Nothing brushing against the back of his legs, nothing curling around his arms. He had a strangled noise before he tried to look behind him, his heart beating fast. As he dreaded, there was nothing left of his wings, for all they were was floating lazily in the dull rising afternoon. It all went black and he does not remember how he came home, darkness falling like a trap on his eyes.

 

And now, there he is. The water is getting cold but he cannot move. All his limbs are sore and frozen, but it is not the worst. No, his body is damaged, but his mind, his mind! It is nothing more than an empty land of desolation. Wind blows, hot and dry, the ground is covered in flames under his soul. And his sweet, fresh grace is nearly gone. It is still beating softly under his ribs, but the power that was flowing in his feathers is now gone, staining the ground of the field forever. He feels weak and every breath he takes shake his stomach, making him nauseous.

Acid tears of frustration roll on his cheeks, and he just curses himself for not seeing the trick before. Why would Lucifer help him, if not for his own interest? Why would he have saved Sam and protected Dean when he was gone, if he knew he would not get anything in return? Castiel clenches his fists, and the rage boils inside him. He was so blind and naive, and now he pays the price of his mistake. His emotions darken again and he feels the grief growing like a cancer on his chest. He felt invincible, he felt stronger than the Universe itself but his pride snapped back to him and it burns so painfully on his skin.

 

Next to him, Dean sat on the floor and helped him clean up the mess that was now his back. It was nothing but a bloody, gruesome puddle of flesh and tattered feathers still hanging desperately. He tried to stitch it as much as possible but the wound was still dripping and dripping of grace, thin threads of blue light escaping like snakes. There is nothing but two stumps on Castiel's back, piercing through the skin like black knives coming from the inside.

 

Dean swallows back a strangled sob and keeps pouring the water on Castiel. He threw his jacket away, noticing it was soaked of angel's blood. He cannot help but remember the lethal snap of Amara's fingers, the way the feathers burst like a firework in front of him, as if lightning had struck right on them, destroying the largest first, before it snaked to the beginning of the wings and broke them from the angel's body. His hands were shaking and after Castiel realized the horror of the situation and fell into a poisonous sleep, he had to carry him to Sam's car and drive to their home, for his brother had nothing that could help healing Cas, and for the Impala was still at the last motel he visited.

He cannot help but remember holding Castiel against his chest among the woods, begging him to forgive him, begging him not to fade away once again. He turned on the water and it started flowing happily in the porcelain bathtub with joyful lapping. Castiel woke up with an agonizing pain deforming his features and when Dean helped him getting into the water, it was soon tainted of dark red, forcing him to empty it before he filled it again. There is morbid curiosity in his heart, a force making him stare at Castiel's ravaged back as his fingers brush the dust and blood away.

He feels the guilt rising again in his throat and he bites his lips. His worst fear became true. He remembers the day he met Castiel, and the way he left him. The way his steps stopped in the middle of the forest when he heard the Hunters and imagined all the kinds of monstrous torture they could find to make the angel that saved him suffer. He pictured the wings on a wall, and it made him shiver. But after that, he never thought about it again and he thought he was finally safe and that, for once, his presence would not bring despair and suffering to the ones getting close to him. And he was wrong.

 

Castiel is completely numb. He only blinked a few times and barely reacted when Dean spoke to him. It is even worse when he remembers the time Castiel talked about how wings were important to angels. How they were their pride and their most powerful weapon, how they were the source of all their majesty. How the simple idea of touching them was holy and pure, and how Dean was so shocked that anyone could try to harm them.

Now he understands. It is destroying them, the angels. Break their wings and they are nothing but lost creatures that are stuck on the ground. Amara's punishment was nothing but the game of a cruel child, and Cas was nothing but a bird under her hands. Dean clenches his jaw when he thinks of Lucifer, who sold his own brother for power and glory. He still cannot believe that for all these weeks, Lucifer was pretending to be on their side, when he was actually using them like pawns, already choosing their fate.

 

Dean does not know if, or rather when, Amara will come back. Maybe it will be in a few minutes, or a few hours. He can only remember the words she said to him before she disappeared with Lucifer in a cloud of glittering darkness.

“Next time, I'm taking his life.” She said, diving his eyes into his, the threat feeling electric between them.

 

Worry spreads its wings inside him. How he is going to protect everyone now? Sam, Eileen, Charlie? Now a broken angel with no more power? How can he save them from Amara's wrath if she just needs to snap her fingers to destroy a life? He sighs deeply and passes a wet hand in his hair, leaving it pointing in every direction.

 

He helps Castiel getting out of the bathtub, making sure he does not lose his balance. He is about to step away to grab a towel when the angel falls against his chest and wraps weak arms around his waist, burying his face in Dean's neck. Dean has a moment of surprise before he passes his own arms around the angel's shoulders. Cas does not cry, he is just shivering violently against him. Dean waits for his wings to curl around them like they always do, and then realization hits him and he lowers his eyes, ashamed.

“It's going to be OK.” He murmurs, not believing a single word. Castiel does not answer, just stay still, barely breathing. Dean moves back a little and dives his eyes into Cas' dull ones. The emptiness in them makes Dean shiver. “I'm so sorry, Cas I didn't think she'd-”

 

“It's not your fault, Dean.” Castiel murmurs and the demon represses a sarcastic laugh. The first words the angel says since they went back into their home, and it is to tell him he is not the one to blame. _Same old Cas, apparently_. No matter if Dean slaughtered dozens of people, or ran the country with an evil force beyond control for weeks, he is still defending him with all his soul. Dean does not even know what he should do, laugh, cry or both.

 

Dean sighs and lets Castiel get dressed, only helping him when the fabric brush against the remains of his wings and he winces of pain and disgust. Then, he walks back to the living room, Castiel gripping his arm, biting his lip everytime the pain blows in his back. Dean helps him sitting on the bed before he turns to the kitchen.

“You want to eat something?” He asks, feeling the warmth of the house falling softly on him like snow. He left it for two whole months and yet it is like he never woke up somewhere else than here.

 

“No.” Castiel says and his voice is low, hoarse.

 

Dean turns suddenly to him, frowning. “You have to eat something!” He gives him a worried look. “You can't stay like that with an empty stomach.”

 

Castiel lowers his head and starts playing with the jacket Dean abandoned on the bed, pulls out a string coming out of the leather. “I can't. Not now.” He answers coldly, his body filled with thick mud inside, his heart pumping dirty soil into his veins. He knows that if he swallows anything, it will not stay long in his empty shell.

 

Dean is about to speak when he sees the angel diving thin fingers in one of the pocket. A second after, he takes out a crumpled black feather and his soul falls heavier on him. He observes it without blinking, a lump on his throat as he watches the soft thing shine in his palm. It reminds him of everything he lost and as he clenches his jaw, he crushes it in his hand with anger flowing free in his veins, before he trows it on the floor. The feather floats a little before it lands silently at Dean's feet. He swallows hardly and walks to Castiel, sits by his side. His fingers find Castiel's and he tangles them as Cas stares into space with a resigned expression.

“I'm sorry.” Dean repeats as he looks at him, his aura pulsing softly against Castiel's. The demon has a surprised look when the grace he knew responds differently, with a weak blow, a faded blue floating around their fingers. Something is missing, something was taken from his angel and even with eternity in front of him, Dean does not know if he will ever be enough to fill this void.

 

As an answer to his silent question, Castiel releases his hand and crawls on the bed to curl up in a ball on the white sheets. Like moving in a mirror, Dean does the same and lay down behind him before he wraps an arm around his waist, doing his best not to touch Castiel's wound, red and raw under the bandage and t-shirt.

 

Lazarus jumps on the bed and gives a weak whine, before he takes place between the two of them on the edge of the bed. Dean moves a little to caress his head and the dog gives him an almost hurt look. The demon cannot help but feel a pang when he realizes he nearly forgot about him. The Hellhound looks smaller than ever and Dean feels guilty for giving up on him like that. He did not adopt him to give him a life of suffering.

Dean sighs and Lazarus moves again to curl up behind his back and put his head on Dean's ribs. Castiel already fell asleep and Dean is sucked into slumber, rocked by Cas' soft breathing and the dog's blows of tender electricity that run through his body.

 

What he does not know, is that angels have that strange ability to shed tears in the most perfect silence, even in the most painful times.

 

**X**

 

When Dean wakes up, his eyes meet bright blue gems silently staring at him. Castiel turned to him and looks at him, barely breathing, barely blinking.

“You look peaceful when you sleep.” He suddenly says and his lips curve into what could be the ghost of a smile.

 

Dean has a little laugh. “Freak.” He mutters as he buries his head in Castiel's neck, his body shifting on the bed that creaks under his weight. He wraps an arm around Castiel and his hand travel up his back, ready to dive in thick feathers.

 

But it only meets skin and emptiness between Cas' shoulder blades. He frowns, puzzled and sits up right when he sees Castiel's amused smile fade suddenly. His body freezes under Dean's touch and he is suddenly made of ice, pain blooming shyly with Dean's innocent caress. The angel stares at him for a second, a lump on his throat.

“I thought it was a nightmare.” The demon whispers almost unwillingly. His tongue turns dry and he immediately regrets his words.

 

Castiel lowers his head. “I thought it too.” He answers in a breath before he suddenly moves and gets up, his tall silhouette illuminated by the morning light. Dean blinks to focus on the shape of his body, but as the sun shines behind him, he is nothing but a shadow.

 

Dean gets up and walks slowly to stand next the angel who turned into a pale statue. He puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, making him turn to him. “How are you?” He asks, the events of the night before flashing bright behind his eyelids.

 

“I'm fine.” Castiel simply answers.

 

Dean shakes his head. “No, you're not. Don't try to lie to me.” He says, now standing in front of Castiel. He looks so small now, without the huge black wings framing his body like long ribbons of darkness. He almost looks… _human_.

 

“What do you want me to say?” Castiel suddenly snaps, bitter and acid melody ringing in Dean's ears. The demon looks at him, blinking quickly of surprise, and the angel seems to soften, but just for his anger to melt into grief.

 

“We should go back to Sam's house and we'll find a solution.” Dean says, determined, energy pumping loud and electric green in his brain.

 

Castiel gives him a little, sad smile. “You know there is no solution.” He says softly.

 

Dean frowns and makes a step closer, his soul flowing like a river around the angel. “You didn't give up on me. You put yourself in danger and now you're paying the price in blood.” He shakes his head, desperate. “I'm the one who should be paying it! _Me_! You hear me? It's my fault if this happened to you!”

 

Castiel's eyes are too soft, like a honey-colored sunrise, and it is becoming scary. He is too calm, as if the night was enough for him to heal and get up again like nothing happened. As if he was already getting used to his new condition. “It's not your fault.” He repeats like a machine. “It was my choice to do anything I can to save you, and I knew the risks.” He says.

 

“No you didn't!” Dean shouts, making the angel jump, making his bubble of stupor burst around him. “But I did! I knew it was a bad idea and if only I walked away when I could, none of this would have happened!” He clenches his jaw. “Do you think I'll ever forgive myself for this?” He asks.

 

“You will.” Castiel answers as he walks to the kitchen and takes out two cups, starting to prepare the breakfast like it was a normal day like another. Dean shivers. “I accepted what happened to me and you should too.”

 

Dean stares at him, incredulous. “So you don't care?” He asks, completely stunned.

 

Castiel stares at him without blinking, the coffee maker spurting loudly behind him. His black hair is disheveled, dark circles appeared under his haunted eyes. “Is that what you think?” He asks, anger trembling under his words.

 

“No.” Dean answers carefully. Castiel turned into a wild creature he must approach with silent, slow steps.

 

The angel turns and his back is now facing Dean. The demon's heart has a distraught jump when he realizes again the wings are gone. It is impossible. He will never get used to it. Castiel's hands grip the sink until they turn white. “You think I'm not feeling anything?” His voice is as cold as an angel's voice can be.

 

“I didn't say that.” Dean protests. “But you're not showing anything.” He stops, frowning. “You don't think I can understand?”

 

Castiel turns suddenly, his eyes glimmering. “You want me tell you the truth?” He asks and Dean nods, fearing what is coming. Castiel's face is made of marble and snow and he clenches his fists. “Every second that passed since I lost my wings is a torture.” He says in an angry breath.

 

Dean's body stiffens and he makes a step. “Cas...”

 

The angel turns back again. “I didn't give up on you because there was no way I would keep living if I did. But this is different. I can live like that and I should be thankful that I'm still alive.” He snaps.

 

“But we could find a spell. Or- or Aniel could help you! There's a way, I know-” Dean blurts before Castiel's deep voice makes him stop.

 

“There's none.” He closes his eyes, trembling of wrath. “I have to accept it now. I can't spend the eternity holding on something I lost.”

 

“You were ready to do it because me.” Dean says softly and Castiel's eyes open again, waves moving in them.

 

“It was different.” He says again.

 

Dean walks to him and his aura pulses bright red around him. “Listen, I'll not stop until I found a way to fix what I've done, you hear me?”

 

“This is useless, Dean.” The angel answers softly and he wishes he could curl his wings around him to protect him from Dean's furious explosions of colors. He wants to add something when he is suddenly held tight against a warm chest. He stops breathing and Dean holds him with all his strength, his face buried in his hair, his arms circling his waist as he breathes fire in Castiel's neck.

 

“I'm gonna do it, like it or not.” He mutters as his dark soul shapes into wings as thin as paper around them. Castiel follows the motion of the largest feathers and his voice gets stuck inside his throat. He represses a sob and turns around slowly, ending head against Dean's shoulder. The demon does not let go. “Now, you'll drink that damn coffee, put a jacket on and you'll do what I tell you. We're going to see Sam and I'll find a way to end all of this.”

 

**X**

 

Dean drives silently, eyes fixed strong of the black ribbon of road in front of him. The nature blooms around them, the pines reach the sky proudly, needles falling softly with crystal clear sounds on the car. Thick grass started to grow, pushing through the soil and leaves, chasing the cold winter away. Rare flowers are starting to appear here and there, throwing bright colors in Dean's eyes. The sky is tainted of blue, a blue so beautiful, the kind he never saw before, clear, devoid of any threatening cloud. He opened the windows and he can already smell the spring filling the air, chanting in the breeze. It is a sugary, light fragrance that dives into his lungs, making him shiver of pleasure.

The radio spits some folk songs and although it is not Dean's usual taste, he lets the soft chords fill his head, rocking him tenderly. The calm music mixed with the wind and birds' songs dive into his tired heart. The car is warm and makes a low, soothing sound as it swallows the road avidly. But Dean misses the Impala, he misses the way it roared, he misses the thrill it gave him everytime he drove, and knowing it is still at the last motel they visited breaks his soul a little. He does not know when, or if, he will ever see it again.

 

He glances at Castiel but the angel is staring by the window, his body looking frail and pail when it is not. It is so strange to see him without his wings and Dean curses himself for thinking for one second he is different now. It is not some feathers that will change him, not in that way. Of course, this metamorphosis was unexpected and broke him, and this new angel that cannot fly may be nothing like Dean knew, but in the deepest pit of his chest, it is the same heart, the same soul that pulses and Dean refuses to believe something, whatever it is, could change the energy running through Cas' veins.

 

They finally arrive at Sam's house and the car jolts on the gravel, and Dean winces as he grips the steering wheel tighter. He parks the car and stops it. Lazarus, who was laying on the backseat, gets up suddenly and moves his tail happily, his tongue hanging from his maw. Dean pats him on the head before he turns again to Castiel. This one stares at the house, or rather at the field behind it and he clenches his jaw. Dean reaches out to grab his hand but the angel opens suddenly the door and gets out of the car before his fingers can even touch him. Dean's heart aches a little as he follows him, Lazarus scampering behind him.

When they reach the front door, he sees that the dark roses are still there, even after facing the cruel winter without growing pale. He knocks softly, and an acid worry is stuck inside his throat. To be honest, he is a little nervous. It is been weeks since he ever returned in that house and saw his family. And the worst of it, what is Sam thinking of him now? He is probably ashamed, angry or even disgusted. If Dean cannot even forgive his own crimes, then what will his brother, this gentle and warm soul, think of them?

 

The knob is turned from the inside and Dean takes a deep breath, shaking. The door opens on Sam and his eyes immediately widen.

“Dean!” He shouts before taking his brother in a bone-crushing hug. His burning aura surrounds Dean and the demon suffocates a little when he feels the relief and affection in its colors. A few seconds after, Sam steps back and his eyes fall on Castiel, who stands without a sound next to Dean. Sam's irises soften and he slowly wraps his arm around the angel's shoulders, carefully avoiding the gaping wound on his back. Dean feels so grateful for Sam's clever mind, who immediately shifted from an excited yellow to a soothing, calm blue. The last thing he wants is to rush Cas.

 

Behind Sam, Eileen arrives, wearing one of his plaid shirt. It is way too big for her thin body but it is has some kind of an odd charm, with her disheveled hair and steaming cup of black coffee. When she sees them, her lips break into a wide smile and her black and white wings have a happy beat. She hugs them the best she can without spilling the burning liquid on them.

“Come inside!” She exclaims, stepping back to let them enter the warm living room. Dean immediately feels the knot in his stomach loosening.

 

Charlie appears from the corridor, her short hair looking dull, with her faded eyes and worried expression. Her look flutters to Castiel, before she walks to him. Dean notices she keeps her wings folded behind her, almost hiding them.

“How are you?” She asks softly, her voice still low and hoarse from sleep. She is close to him, her soul turning into a deep, soft purple, amethyst colored. She takes his hand and laces their fingers together, her eyes diving into Castiel's.

 

The dark haired angel shrugs slightly. “I'm OK.” He whispers and Charlie has a hurt expression, the lie like a punch in her stomach. She does not answer but puts her head on Castiel's chest, her wings dropping behind her until they touch the floor.

 

“I should have done something.” She whispers against him, shaking her head. “I should have fight her!” She adds, clenching her fists.

 

“It was not your fault.” Castiel whispers in return, raising a hand to caress her tangled hair before he takes her by her shoulders and makes her move back, still holding her. “Nobody can beat her.” He says softly, and Charlie's face crumbles, resigned.

 

“I'm not sure of that.” Sam suddenly says and they all turn to him in one motion.

 

Eileen, whose eyes were lost for a moment in the smokes above her cup, raises her head and sees their intrigued expression. She turns slowly to Sam and blinks, confused. “What did you say?” She asks softly.

 

He turns to her and makes sure he is completely facing her. “I said I was not sure of that.” He glances at them. “There must be a way.” He adds.

 

Dean sighs deeply and falls heavily on the couch. “You think?” He asks, exhausted, and Sam answers by a nod. “But how?”

 

“I don't know.” Sam says, frowning.

 

Next to him, Eileen walks by to the kitchen with little steps and comes back with other cups full of hot coffee. She gives one to each one of them and when it is Castiel's turn, she puts it carefully in his hands with a gentle smile. The angel answers with the same curve of his lips but Dean sees that when she turns back, Cas' eyes linger on the soft wings hanging from her spine and he lowers his head with an expression that breaks Dean's heart in thousands of sharp pieces.

 

“We already searched in books, and online, but we found nothing about her.” Eileen says and a strand of her hair escapes her ponytail to float in front of her eyes. Sam wraps it tenderly around a finger and put it behind her ear with a smile. She wraps an arm around his waist and keeps going. “I don't understand. Every creature in this world has a story.” She frowns. “It's like she's invisible!”

 

“I think that was the point.” Charlie says softly and their heads snap to her. “All she wanted was a place on Earth, she wanted to be a part of the Creation.”

 

“But she is not.” Castiel says, shaking his head. “She created herself.”

 

“God only protects His own children. And He wants them to be the only characters of His story.” Charlie murmurs, searching in her mind the key to their problem. She must dive into the misty, dusty times. “They didn't kill her… but why?” She whispers, confused.

 

“Mercy?” Dean proposes and Charlie snorts sarcastically.

 

“No, I don't think so.” She bites her lip thoughtfully and suddenly her eyes brighten. “All she wanted was to be a part of the Creation.” She murmurs again as she raises her head to look at them. “They erased her from History!” She stands up suddenly, cinnamon wings shivering behind her. “They found the worst punishment for her crimes. And it was not killing her. No, her worst fear was to be forgotten. So they locked her up and pretended she never existed, because death was too soft for what she did.”

 

They all stare at her, speechless for a moment. “How did you come up with this?” Sam asks, astonished.

 

She shrugs. “I don't know.” She says. “I just tried to see through her eyes. I tried to imagine being on her side, and not Heaven's. When you think about it, being kept in a cage for centuries is far crueler than dying.”

 

Dean gets up and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Good job, kiddo.” He says fondly.

 

“Thanks.” She answers with a weak smile. “But that doesn't help us. We can't change what happened to her.”

 

Dean sighs again. That poor glimpse of light was too dangerous, it made him believe. He walks back to the couch and falls next to Castiel, and he puts his head on Cas' shoulder. Castiel follows the move and puts his own cheek on the top of Dean's hair as his eyes fall into a dark pit of doubts. “Maybe we'll never find a way to beat her.” He whispers.

 

“Don't say that.” Dean snaps against him.

 

Castiel frowns and shifts on his seat. “But what could destroy her?”

 

“I don't know.” Sam answers. “But we could try your angel blades, no?” He asks.

 

Charlie shakes her head. “I don't think it'd work. And you saw what she did last night. She is powerful and capable of anything. She could kill us before we even try something.”

 

“Charlie's right.” Sam says. “But we have to find something and we can't let her walk around forever!” His eyes darken. “Do you think she has a chance to do whatever she wants with God?”

 

“I don't think so.” A voice suddenly snaps behind them. They turn to see Aniel emerging from the corridor, still dizzy of sleep. He traded his clothes for comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants. He walks directly to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of hot coffee and grabs a toast before he joins them. He sits on the edge of the couch and bites in the bread. “Nobody saw God for ages. I don't think she'll ever find him.”

 

His eyes travel around him and falls on his brother. His expression melts and he gets up, abandoning his breakfast on the table. “Castiel.” He murmurs, haunted eyes fixed on the angel, who stands up with a tired smile. Castiel answers with a soft smile and his brother takes him in a strong embrace. Aniel closes his eyes for a second and his wings between darkness and light curl around them beyond his control. Castiel has a violent shiver when a feather brushes against his bare arm.

 

When Aniel's eyes open again, they fall immediately on Dean and a powerful wave hits the angel who freezes completely, taken by shock and fear. He steps back and stumbles a little, a lump on his throat.

“Guess you have something for breaking wings, hm?” He says coldly. “You just hit rock bottom.” He looks at Dean without blinking and the demon lowers his head, dark paintings flashing in his already somber mind. _And suddenly the light._ Castiel gives Aniel a shocked look but Dean cuts him off.

 

“Wait.” He says and his eyes are lost into space, emptier than ever. “I think I know what could kill Amara.”

He looks at them, breathless. “ **Me**.”

 

 


	17. Thunderclap

“ _You cannot fight without a reason. If I asked for your help when you couldn't think right, you could have destroyed me. And that's not what I wanted, of course.”_

Amara's words race in Dean's mind at the speed of light. They are falling stars in his black skull and when they hit the ground, they appear on the sky again, in an endless circle, and he tries, he tries so hard to understand them. Why would she say those words? When he met her, he was nothing like the monster he once was. All this blackness, all this blood lust, they were gone. He was probably just another naive lamb from Amara's perspective.

“ _You could have destroyed me.”_ She said. And here was her mistake. Dean blinks and holds his breath, his thoughts slowly turning and swirling. Amara is intelligent, she is dangerously clever, cunning like a fox. There was no way she could reveal the power Dean was holding against her.

 

Unless, unless… Unless she was just too sure of her perfect little plan. Unless the black energy running through her veins blinded her and she became too confident. She saw Dean like an obedient, sweet dog and did not think he could harm her in any way. The trap, the puzzle was ready in her mind and she did not even think of one reason it could go wrong. The words rolled on her tongue and she tasted them, worry far away from her thoughts. Dean had found his family back, so there was no way he would turn rabid again. The only way he would find his darkness back would be under her control. A leash of silver and she would just have to whistle a little to keep him from becoming too dangerous.

From that, she put pieces after pieces on the table of Destiny and she watched everything flow as planned. First, threaten the loved ones, force the demon to surrender and leave. Then, make him forget, days after days, who he really is. Bathe him in blood and sin and watch the madness burn bright in his haunted eyes. Make the humanity fade everytime and finally, watch him kill the unforgivable, watch him destroy the celestial and rip the skies apart.

 

What she did not plan was that Castiel could ever break the bond between them. That one look, one touch could break apart every thread she weaved in his mind. But she is pure evil and Death walks by her side, and she does not fear the wrath coming down the skies. Finally, she could see the shock spread on their terrified faces and the Devil would arrive on the chess board. She would break the angel and disappear, making Dean suffer in a bath of black thoughts.

 

She will come back, he is certain. She will come back and she will shine like a beacon of pride. Make the fear grow inside him once again, watch him being torn apart between his love and his freedom, watch him drown in anger and animal impulses once again. And she would forget the fire of revenge burning inside him, and how he desperately wants to make her pay for all the suffering he caused all these weeks.

He shivers and blinks again to focus on the intrigued faces staring at him. His green eyes shine, filled with golden hope like honey on grass. “I can do it.” He mutters in a husky voice.

 

“Yeah, I saw that.” Aniel snaps. “Total control when you're with her.” Charlie shouts his name, shocked and he turns back, shaking of anger. “What?!”

 

“What is happening to you?” She asks, frowning of confusion. “You know it was not Dean's fault! He was being controlled!”

 

“I used to believe that.” The angel mutters with a furious beat of his wings.

 

Castiel turns to him in one motion and he stands between his brother and Dean, fists clenched. “What are you talking about?” He asks behind his teeth, anger piercing in his voice. “I thought you forgave him?”

 

“That's right.” Aniel's eyes dive into his. “But not after what happened to you.” He spits, acid words making Castiel's body freeze completely.

 

It is Dean's turn to stand up. “I never wanted any of this!” He blurts, his voice strangled by grief.

 

Aniel's eyes fall on him and they are empty of any emotion. “Maybe. But nothing would have happened if you weren't such a coward.”

 

Dean blinks and he gets closer under Castiel's worried look. “What?” The demon murmurs.

 

“If you didn't play the martyr, we wouldn't be here today.” Aniel's features turn to ice. “I wouldn't have to die.”

 

“So, this is personal?” Dean asks, shaking his head, incredulous. “We don't have time for this! She'll come back and we need-”

 

“This has nothing to do with me.” Aniel snaps. “Everyone here is paying because of your weakness.” He makes a step closer until he is just a breath away from Dean. His eyes are made of pure, electric snow. “First, your family dies. Then your brother is abducted. His little brain is washed and he loses everything he knew.”

 

“Aniel, what are you doing?” Eileen says, confusion marking her features as she approaches, Sam behind her, a lump on his throat. Bright, blood-stained photos are thrown in his mind and he starts to ache, the memories diving their claws in his head. His eyes get blurry and he grips the closest furniture, knuckles turning white.

 

“You turn into a monster and you kill dozens of innocent people.” The angel keeps going and with every word, Dean's soul darkens. “And then, surprise! You get your brother back and you start having a normal, human life. You had everything.” His wings have a slow, dangerous beat. “And you screwed up once again.”

 

“Stop.” Castiel says and his soul pulses bright red, sending wires of warning to his brother. Dean's aura is tainted of the same color and his clenched fists tremble. He squares his jaw, blackness fluttering like a moth in his eyes.

 

“You slaughtered entire families. People started to think the Devil was walking among them. And then, you make another mistake and before you can even think of it, Castiel loses his wings. Because of you. Just like that.” Aniel says and his irises flash madness and Chaos. A strange glimpse appears in them and Castiel frowns, rather intrigued than shocked or frightened.

 

“You know I never had a choice.” Dean says, tears of frustration and wrath filling his eyes. His soul moves like a dangerous wave of black, thick oil, and in this moment, he is an ocean in a bottle. His head turns slightly to Castiel and he crosses bright blue eyes staring at him with a soft compassion that makes his heart sink in his chest.

 

“Really?” Aniel asks and Dean turns back to him, frowning of confusion.

 

“What?” He says, his poor spirit lost at sea. He is getting tired of the angel's little twisted game, and he keeps repeating his idea to defeat Amara, in fear of losing it in rage.

 

Aniel has a sarcastic grin and his grace looks like it is covered in flames. “Well, maybe that's all you wanted all along. Maybe you started to miss being a monster. Maybe you chose to become one again to destroy the ones you love.”

 

The angel's whispers echo in Dean's mind and they fall like ashes on his lungs. The demon tries to take a deep breath but it only makes it worse. The wave of poison inside him grows and grows, swells like a cancer. It crashes against his ribs, his skull and his bones ignite. It is a sea of fire, smooth soft flames licking the shores of his eyes that snap to black in a second. The words repeat and repeat like an old broken radio and they are blows in Dean's stomach. He feels the anger like a ball of thorns in his throat and he clenches his jaw, shaking like a storm, his soul snapping around him like solar ribbons, bubbling furiously, ready to go off and blow the whole Universe with him. Yet, he does not move, does not attack, all his anger bottled up inside him, the animal growing inside still caged for the moment.

 

Aniel gives him an amused smirk, barely impressed by the wells of darkness staring at him without blinking and the low evil growl filling his ears. “What? Afraid of hurting me?” Dean's face only darkens and the angel only smiles brighter. “Don't worry. It'll be nothing compared to what you put your little angel through.” He adds and it is too much.

 

Just like an atomic bomb, Dean's soul crashes on the floor before it explodes in a gigantic cloud of smokes around them. It snaps and becomes thick and poisoning, thousands of black tongues whispering an ancient ritual around them, creatures coming from the depths of Hell swarming in a gruesome pond at his feet. It is a black star falling down on earth, a star that burned for too long and it is as dark as the space between its brethren. It is a wolf, a monster coming from the deepest ocean, with hundreds of wings made of bones and steel, claws and teeth as sharp as daggers. With it pictures of despair and suffering flow, showing blood and broken bodies and souls and screams of agony. It shapes into flames around Dean, licking the air, leaving a smell of burning heavy on the lungs.

The demon makes a step to the angel, while all the other beings in the room have a frightened step back. His soul is now a crown above his head and it is now birds of prey circling, singing their death song. Dean's black eyes narrow and with a scream that could make the Devil grow pale, he lets his aura fall down on Aniel, who barely has the time to cross his wings in front of him like a shield. The soul unleashes horses and dogs with glowing red eyes, monsters that howl and scratch, sirens that sing and kill. The air goes electric around him and threads of green light crackle as they dive right on the angel. The grief, the anger, the doubt and the guilt merge together to become one muddy color that flows through Dean's veins. A red light appears in his palms and it snakes around his arms, makes his heart beat faster. It is two warm balls of power that glow like strange dark flowers in his fingers.

He shivers and suddenly the whole room is illuminated in red, as if a terrifying bloody moon rose behind the windows, a neon sign leading to the darkest pit of the Creation. Dean's veins turned fluorescent under the flesh and Castiel follows the way they move on his skin, speechless, heart beating way too fast. His eyes are wide open and he feels the wound on his back burn as if a whole fire started among the torn apart remains of grace. When he moves to stand next to Aniel who stares at the demon, smiling widely, half frightened, half astonished, he sees that even Dean's eyes changed. They are still as black as night, but in the center, a thin ring of glowing red appeared around the pupil. This light seems to appear from nowhere, from far beyond Dean's mind, like a signal fire in his mind. It feels like Hell is raining down on them.

 

Dean is about to grab Aniel's throat when the angel murmurs Castiel's name. This one reaches out to Dean and puts a hand on his shoulder. He can feel the hot skin, even under several layers of clothing, and when his palm lands on Dean's arm, a strange sensation spreads inside him, opening his eyes wide, flowing fresh in his heart that pumps loud in his ears. His grace protests a little but he still pushes it towards the demon and suddenly the day is back.

A blue light flashes for a second and then Dean looks around, confused, all green eyes and soft colorful soul. He is breathless and he turns to Aniel, all his strength gone God knows where.

 

The mad angel has a wide smile. “That's what I thought.” He says before he glances at Castiel, who is still staring at Dean with eyes as wide and bright as the Sun itself.

 

The demon looks at him back and blinks, still feeling the Flood in his veins. In one touch, Castiel chase the dark energy away, the moths, wolves and crows flying away with thunder and lightning. He steps back and nearly collapses on the couch, his legs trembling and weak. Castiel sighs once before he walks to sit by his side, tangling their fingers together as his soul tries to ease the distraught beats of their two hearts. Dean looks back at Aniel, puzzled.

“What do you mean?” He blurts, voice low and hoarse.

 

Aniel turns to him and despite the small spark of his previous rage, his eyes are filled with a warm feeling of hope and pride.

“You were right.” The angel says in a breath. “You can beat her.”

 

**X**

 

“I don't understand.” Dean whispers, raising confused eyes to the angel. Sam, Eileen and Charlie took place next to them on the couch and gives Aniel the same intrigued look. They all give Dean discreet glances, still amazed and blown away by the power that burst out of him.

 

“First, you need to know something.” He starts with a beat of his black and white wings. Dean sits right and leans to him, eyes wide open. Aniel smirks. “I was not acting at the beginning and I still think you're a walking disaster.”

 

Dean has a half amused, half broken smile. “Thanks, but I already knew that.” He answers and a heavy weight falls on Castiel's throat as he sees Dean lowering his head, already looking like he is a billion years old.

 

“You said you thought you could killed her.” Aniel says, suddenly as serious as his celestial kind can be, which means stone face and rain colored eyes. “How did you know?”

 

“I didn't.” Dean says, shifting on his seat, memories flashing in his mind. “But when I met Amara, she told me she waited to ask for my help. She said that when I was… out of control, I'd have destroyed her.”

 

The angels blink, frowning. Sam dives his soft eyes in his brother's. “But why would she say that?” He says, shaking his head. “It doesn't make any sense! Why would she tell you that? That you can make her weak?”

 

“It was a trap. She was testing you, she wanted to see if she could trust you.” Charlie says and Dean never saw her so calm.

 

“Yeah, but when we met, I was myself! I was not a threat to anyone.” Dean says and Aniel snorts with amusement, causing a dark glare from the demon. “I think she never feared me.”

 

“Dean is right.” Castiel suddenly says and they all turn to him, raising eyebrows. The angel moves on the couch and Lazarus jumps next to him, curling into a ball of thick black fur on his lap. He runs his fingers through it before he continues. “Amara thinks she is the most powerful being on Earth, and until now, we thought it too. She never believed anyone could harm her, and especially not Dean. She thought that once he would be on her side, he would never think of doing such thing.”

 

“So what?” Aniel says. “She just made a random joke? Like 'let's find God together and oh by the way, if you were on full demon mode, you could kill me! Hilarious, right?!'” He shakes his head. “Nah, this is weird.”

 

Castiel narrows his eyes. “But you said Dean could do it!” He says, confused.

 

“Yeah that's right.” Aniel answers. “I'm just saying it was strange she confessed something like that.”

 

There is a moment of silent. “She trusts him.” Sam suddenly says, causing all the heads to turn to him. He raises his eyes to speak to them, but his look is stronger on Dean and the demon shakes under the wise stare. “In some way, she grew fond of you. She wants revenge and… she thinks you can give it to her. You're the first person she's ready to trust with her life and future.” He shrugs. “Since the beginning, she thought the feeling would flow both way. She let you see her as something other than invincible. She accepted the fact you could destroy her. I don't think it was a mistake or an accident.”

 

Dean blinks, amazed by his brother. “But she _forced_ me to follow her! She knew I would never want to be on her side!” He says, frowning suddenly, before he passes a hand in his short hair, sighing. “It's a dead end, Sammy.”

 

His brother chuckles a little when he hears the soft sound of his name, but still gathers his strong mind back in a second. “Of course she knew you wouldn't follow her willingly. But what she was sure of, is that once you'd be under her control, you'd do anything she wanted. She never thought you could turn your back on her.” His eyes turn soft honey. “Right now, she's desperate. You broke the bond you shared and she can't create it again if you fight against it. She knows you've got nothing to lose now.”

 

Dean's eyes darken. “I've got everything to lose.” His soul turns briefly to Castiel. “I think everyone already paid for me, no?”

 

“Yeah, but God is bringing back the angels. They'll come after her, and they'll buy us some time to make a plan.” Sam says softly. “She can't do anything to us now.”

 

“Sam, are you hearing yourself?” Dean suddenly says, his voice thundering in the room. “You saw what she did! And she just snapped her freakin' fingers!” He shakes his head, incredulous, before he feels an icy wind brushing against him. He turns to Castiel and this one lowered his head, swallowing hardly like his throat is filled with sand and mud. Dean clenches his jaw. “We don't know what she's capable of! Now, she'll do anything to have me back and if she has to kill one of you, she will!” He shouts, furious.

 

“Dean, we know.” Eileen murmurs softly and he raises his eyes to her, his anger crawling back into his veins. “But we'll find a way. I promise.”

 

Dean sighs deeply and his head falls on Castiel's shoulder. The angel's eyes are covered by a veil and he stares into the empty, barely breathing against him. “What about Lucifer?” He asks and his low voice shakes Dean's bones, pulls some chords in his heart as he buries his face deeper in Cas' hot neck.

 

“We'll just have to send him back to Hell.” Charlie says without blinking.

 

“He deserves far worse for what he has done.” Eileen murmurs, his eyes traveling from Castiel to Aniel, and the two angels have a painful icy spark in their eyes.

 

“We need a plan.” Dean says. “We can't just hope a knife will do the job. We only have one shot.”

 

“Yeah, but we don't know when she'll come back.” Sam says, shaking his head. “We already searched everywhere but we never found something on her. So how are we supposed to kill her?”

 

They all sigh in the same motion. It is barely 10 a.m, and yet they only wish they could crawl back to bed and snore softly for the next century. But at the same time, their minds are boiling, alive and shaking, rushing through their veins like a mad river. It feels like they are running into a maze without exit. They turn at every corner, already seeing the light, but the trap falls back on them and they must turn back and try again, all in an endless circle, days after days, from dusk to dawn. The golden thread guiding them among this graveyard is long lost and they are on their own, praying that destiny will be on their side for once.

Eileen shrugs before she presses Sam's shoulder with affection. She gives them all a tired smile. “I'm going to make some hot chocolate.” She says, not seeing what else she could do but soothing the tormented souls with some sugar. “Who wants some?” She asks, a thin smile spreading on her lips as the same strand of hair falls in front of her eyes.

 

Five hands are raised with not much strength, but the smell is already driving them all crazy. No one could ever live through this without facing madness.

 

**X**

 

Dean wakes up to the sound of Castiel's voice, humming softly at the back of his head. He blinks a few times, still heavy and sore of sleep, to see he has fallen asleep on the angel's lap, nearly curled into a ball, his hand still holding Cas' one tightly. Castiel gives him a thin smile as he turns to look at him, and his fingers are still running through Dean's short sandy hair. The demon gives him his smile back and his soul enfolds the angel in a whiskey colored wave.

Dean yawns and sits right, rubbing his eyes that shed a few tears. All his body weighs like a ton of pure gold and he keep himself from diving back into sleep. When he turns his head, he sees that Castiel is still staring at him, silver sparks floating in his eyes.

 

Dean sighs a little. “When was the last time you had a real night, hm?” He asks, moving on the couch to bury his head in Cas' neck. “I mean, a real one, without nightmares or anythin'. Just sleeping for a whole night without thinking of the morning?”

 

Castiel's eyes get lost into space. Such peaceful moments seem so far away, and as Dean said, he does not even remember the last time he went to bed with a light heart, worries out of his troubled mind, and woke up with a pleased sigh, leaving his old skin behind to carry the weight of a new day without suffering. “I don't know.” He answers softly, moving next to Dean when a sharp pain blooms behind him. He winces and flinches, causing the demon to raise his head and give him a worried look.

 

“You OK?” He asks, a frown darkening his features.

 

“Yeah.” The angel whispers back, wincing when the sensation gets hotter and stronger, spreading on his whole back. “It's just...” He adds, before fire stabs him in the stomach, making him bend, holding his ribs, frozen of pain.

 

“Hey, hey what's wrong?!” Dean mutters, his hands fluttering above the angel, completely lost. His eyes darken when he sees Castiel wincing again, and his t-shirt getting soon soaked in black blood, two gruesome dots between his shoulder blades like a strange constellation.

 

“Don't worry, I'll heal.” The angel mutters when it does not feel like his throat is crushed under heavy steel boots anymore, and he pushes his grace to the wound, forcing the blue light to fill the voids on his back. He leans again on the couch, slowly, carefully, and has a long, deep sigh when it is just a faded, monotonous pain answering him. A deep, cold fatigue swallows him whole.

 

“You shouldn't have done that.” Dean whispers and Castiel gives him a questioning look. “I could have stitched it again.”

 

“I know.” The angel answers, already regretting the energy he let flow from his heart to his broken flesh. Now he feels empty, hollow, bloodless even. He takes a short breath, taste it between his lips. “I just don't want to be a burden.” He whispers as he gets up suddenly.

 

Dean blinks, his mind freezing completely. “Cas, you're not a burden.” He whispers back, shaking his head slightly, barely believing that the angel said those words. “Why do you say that?” He asks, and his voice is low, barely there in the hot light coming from the windows like soft golden wires.

 

Castiel turns back slowly. “Now, I am.” He gives Dean a desperate look. “Amara will come back, and I know you worry about me. I just don't want you to think you'll have to protect me.” His eyes shine a moment, glowing with a pale light. “I'm still an angel.”

 

Dean makes a few steps and his hands frame Cas' face. “Hey, I know that. I know you're strong, OK, and I trust you with my life. But it doesn't mean I can't worry about you. After what happened to you I-” His voice is suddenly cut by a violent sob, only leaving a weak whisper. “I can't lose you, alright?” He wraps his arms around Cas' shoulders, and worry is painted all across his face.

 

The angel gives him his embrace back, and loses himself for a moment, head buried in Dean's shirt, breathing deeply, letting the scent of pines, sugar and blood fill his lungs again. He steps back, taking Dean's hand. “Let's go outside.” He whispers, leading him to the field behind the house.

 

The second he is out, Dean is blinded by the bright sun, surprised for his heart is still buried somewhere in the winter. He puts a hand above his eyes, trying to cover them from the merciless star when a joyful voice travels to his ear.

“Well, look at who's back from the dead!” Aniel shouts. He is sitting on the ground, wings spread behind him on the grass, surrounded by the rest of the family. “We couldn't hear you snoring like a loud bear anymore.” He says, amused when the demon and the angel sit by their side.

 

“You should eat something.” Charlie says as she gets closer to Dean and passes an arm under his, a wide smile on her face. “It's already two in the afternoon!” She turns to Castiel, pointing at him with a pale finger. “And you too!” She looks back at Dean. “He wouldn't leave you alone.” She adds with a tender curve of her lips. Lazarus jumps on the demon and he nearly falls under the dog's weight. He pats him on the head and tousle the thick fur. The hound's eyes shine brighter and he sits on Dean's lap, his so strange aura floating around him.

 

“Wow.” Dean passes a hand in his hair, yawning again. “Didn't realize I slept so long.” He mutters, blinking, trying to chase the sleep away. They all have an amused laugh before he turns again to Aniel. The angel has an imperceptible movement, just a little breath and his body is now a bit tense, a bit frozen by memories under the evil look. He is still smiling. “So, what were you thinking before I… snapped?” He asks, slightly frowning.

 

“Well, I was thinking about you said. That you could kill her.” The angel answers, his feathers rustling under the sun. “But then I had an idea, and I decided I wanted to know if I was right.” He admits as he shrugs.

 

“That could've turned out pretty bad.” Dean says, frowning.

 

“Yeah I know. You could have killed me. _Again_.” Aniel says and Eileen glares at him, her wings twitching behind her as Sam's look falls dark and heavy on the angel. He ignores them. “Anyway, remember when we met, when I told you you could fight it? Well, I think your power could destroy her if you could use it properly.”

 

“What power?” Dean asks, frowning. “That thing that came out of me?” He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “Excuse me, but have you seen what she can do? I'm nothing next to her!”

 

“That's where you're wrong.” The angel answers calmly. “Your anger, it's what makes you powerful. If you can control it, then you're saved. You just have to break free.”

 

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, well, didn't work like that last time, remember?” He snaps, darkness pulsing around him.

 

“Wait, do you hear that?” Charlie suddenly says, raising her confusion to the skies. Castiel follows the motion and his eyes flash with a silver light. Aniel's irises are tainted with the same celestial color and he holds his breath as a large cloud forms above his head, swirling and shouting like a storm. Dean, Sam and Eileen frowns, feeling the air grow electric around them, diving into their hearts with claws of ice. There is a deafening sound and the blue sky is ripped apart.

 

“They're coming.” Castiel murmurs. “The angels.”

 


	18. Electric Wings

“The angels?” Dean repeats, raising incredulous eyes to the sky that turned electric blue, pulsing white and silver, as if the world was upside down and waves were now moving among the clouds. Thin threads of lightning rip it apart with celestial sounds, like a church bell on a Sunday, like trumpets announcing the end of Time.

 

“They want to fight.” Charlie says and Dean turns to her to see her eyes became empty bottomless, white milky lakes. He flinches and steps back, his heart trembling dangerously in his chest. The woman he now sees as his sister is staring at the skies with her dead irises, these dull galaxies and her wings open wide, covered by the same dreadful color. As if a thick, sticky snow fell on the feathers, they shine like diamonds under the rain and a soft song starts to roll on Charlie's tongue as she whispers strange words that Dean cannot understand.

He turns and sees Aniel soaked in the same ghostly liquid, just like a thin veil between him and reality, and his eyes make Dean shiver. They are as immaculate as a field of ice and they are so cold they burn his skin, as if they were piercing through his flesh, diving into his guts, twisting them around, creating Chaos inside his fragile body, playing with his bones like careless children. His black and white wings are spread above his head, the largest feathers crossed like swords of silver and winter. He steps next to Charlie and he murmurs the same monotonous melody.

 

Dean gives Sam a questioning look but his brother does not seem to know more than him. He observes the angels with an almost frightened look in front of this strange freak show, the air becoming thick, smelling like war and smoke. There is something coming from another Universe, another dimension, coming down on them, blinding their animal eyes, as creatures with porcelain fingers and hearts blacker than the night beat their ten thousands wings. Dean's brother holds his breath, amazed by what he sees on the horizon.

Small dots appeared in front of his eyes like snowflakes, falling one by one without a sound. They are shooting stars in the bright day and Sam feels his veins itching, his spine covered by a shiver. These creatures are nothing like them. They are warriors of ice and they bring Heaven's wrath with them. They will crash right in front of him and his heart stops, frozen by the apparition.

 

Dean starts to feel the unease making its nest in his stomach. A demon, surrounded by angels? Mortal enemies since the beginning of times, black smokes against white lights swirling in the night with screams of revenge and hatred? Definitely far away from his definition of pleasant. He swallows down hardly, his tongue becoming heavy and dry. He dares to glance at Castiel, not entirely ready to see empty white stars staring back to him. His heart jumps in his chest when his eyes cross bright blue ones, barely blinking in the bright light that rains down on them.

Dean gets closer to him, a lump on his throat. Castiel does not say a word and raises his head again to the sky. His soul is barely moving, starting to fade around him, the edges becoming blurry. It is shaped like a sun now: not a bright river flowing lazily around him, but a sharp circle of blue around his head with flares circling it in a hypnotizing dance. It could be beautiful if it was not all his strength escaping with these flames. Dean gives the aura a hurt look and tries to wrap his own around the ring of pale fire, but the embrace feels weak, dying.

He looks back at Castiel's face, not expressing a single emotion and shattering like a mirror at the same time. “Hey,” Dean starts, pushing the angel slowly with his shoulder. “You OK?”

 

“No.” Castiel whispers softly, his eyes not leaving the electric skies. Dean's heart aches and bleeds a little inside him. He knows how hard it must be for Cas to see his brothers arriving proudly, all blinding grace and strong wings tangled together, while he is now stuck on the ground with a fading spirit. And the moment must be terribly harrowing, feeling his soul falling drop by drop when he will have to face his cruel brethren. And as if it was not enough, he is standing with Heaven's most hated monster, the Bringer of Death playing God for months among the woods, running with the enemy, destroying hundreds of innocent lives.

 

Dean interlaces his fingers with his and presses them softly. Castiel does not turn to him, he is as cold as a marble statue forgotten in a temple, engulfed by biblical seas. Dean bites his lips, not knowing what to do, completely useless in front of this celestial grief. There is a soft sound next to him and he turns his head to see Sam standing next to him. Eileen follows him and her own aura pulses brighter with discreet wires of silver electricity. She looks at the skies, waves of hatred and fear dancing together in an endless game that will never be won. Dean feels sorry for her, for the apparition must remind her of that fateful night where she lost everything she loved, and the cruelty of this species that massacred their own brother.

 

“You should step back.” Aniel suddenly says, making Dean jump, his grip on Castiel's hand getting tighter until both their knuckles turn white. The demon looks at the black and white wings facing him, shivering under the pearly wind. The horizon becomes brighter and brighter every second, the sky turning into a blinding silver above the pines that are illuminated in the glowing light. The cloud is swarming, different shapes moving inside, like trapped in a cage. Dean cannot see clearly, but the breeze carrying battle cries is enough to make him freeze. He grips his brother's arm and forces him to step back to the house. Sam blinks and gives him a confused look, still stuck into his sticky stupor. It is like emerging out of sleep, fighting his way among the white suffocating earth with nails and teeth. There is a song escaping the skies and he is hypnotized by its beauty. He just wants to be enfolded by these sounds and fall back into sleep.

Eileen grabs his hand, says his name and breaks the spell. Sam turns to her to cross her worried stare and he swallows down, still dizzy of confusion. He moves back until the back of his legs hit the stairs and he now raises a frown to the skies, realizing a whole celestial storm is about to crash down on his home. Hunters, angels, archangels, demons, creatures older than everything he knows walked on this field but in some strange way, this waterfall of pale golden warriors frightens him more than expected.

 

Dean squeezes Castiel's hand and moves back but the angel does not follow the move. Dean frowns and walks to face him. “Hey, we have to move, OK? We can't stay here!” Dull blue eyes answer him. He is like a statue of salt now, he does not even blink. An acid feeling rises in Dean's throat. One of his hand flies and lands on Cas' cheek as he dives his eyes into his. “Cas, listen to me, if you want to, I can drive us out of here. If you think they'll-”

 

“I'm no afraid they'll hurt me.” Castiel snaps suddenly, causing a surprised blink from Dean. The angel's aura softens as his mask finally falls and he has an exhausted sigh. “I'm afraid they'd try to harm _you_.”

 

A strong blow of fear goes off in the depths of Dean's heart. He has every reasons to be afraid right now. The angels could torture or kill him, causing Amara's wrath, making her fall into the trap. They could throw one rock and kill two birds. Or two monsters in this case.

He steps back with Castiel, the angel getting closer to him, just a little between the demon and the shattering skies. Dean's blood flows faster with sharp little needles in his veins when he imagines Cas' wings spreading wide behind him. He tries to forget the vision when _it happens_.

 

The sky has a shiver, a convulsion, and the shock wave makes the pines bend and break with gruesome sounds. The cloud seems to grow and grow like a voracious creature that eats the darkness with hungry mouthfuls. It becomes darker in the center, swirling and hot, a burning wind brushing over them, feeling like invisible lava flowing lazily on their skin. The air is dry, fizzing in their throats as their lungs are set on fire. The cloud melts and shapes into a wide shroud thrown above the city, a flat disk spinning with the most atrocious melody. Shrieks shake the afternoon, piercing Dean's head to the brain, diving claws into his temples. He stumbles back, fear rising inside him like a sea. The disk is still turning, imperturbable, the edges made of sharp smokes. The center is a ball of white light, flashing silver and gold, throwing sparks around.

The Earth starts to shake, the field growling under their feet like a beast waking up from a very long sleep. Some trees break and they fall on the soil with a thud that resonates in Dean's bones. Bushes are set on fire and a thick smoke starts to rise above the forest, far away from them. Sam steps back again and Dean feels the awful stench of fear floating around him as his brother stares at the sky, a lump on his throat. Eileen folded her wings neatly behind her and she holds on Sam's hand as if it could save her. The demon's soul crawls back behind his ribs and hides in the deepest woods of veins it can find.

The skies have a last tired spasm before the light in the center explodes into a blinding firework of silver and ice. The gusts hitting them are powerful and glacial, and suddenly it is snowing, crystallized sugar falling softly on them, turning into sharp diamonds on their skin. The disk is now a portal and the heart of the light has a painful blow, it is a celestial pulsar spitting wings and halos at their feet. Rays of white light are thrown out of the cloud with sounds of breaking glass and there is lightning striking everytime. Dean feels something warm flowing from one of his ear and when he raises his hand to touch it, his fingers are soaked in soft red blood. He winces and clenches his jaw, before the sky is suddenly ripped apart in one violent motion and it starts raining acid milk on them. The air feels like fire, smells like storms and he is ready to fall on his knees, incapable of bearing the angelic power pulsing around him. He closes his eyes and presses his eyelids tight, protecting himself with darkness.

 

And suddenly it is gone. There is a strong gust of icy wind and snowflakes and the spring is back, soft and shivering. A thick, sugary veil falls on them and Dean opens his eyes, golden sparks flying in front of him. He blinks and white light fills his irises. His heart stops.

Angels, all over the field, deep in the woods. Hundreds of cold steel eyes and frozen wings right there, in front him.

 

**X**

 

“Brothers.” Aniel greets them and his voice resonates in the whole town, shaking Dean's bones, feeling like a flight of dark moths in his stomach. Charlie stands next to her brother, motionless, her body like a bright arrow pointing at the sky. But despite her stone cold skin, Dean can see her hands trembling in a nearly imperceptible way. Her fists are curling into a ball, and everytime her fingers fall back against her sides, as if she was keeping herself from clenching them of anger and loathing.

 

Hundreds of faces turn to Aniel and it is a whole milky sea diving its claws in Dean's eyes. He shivers and the angels' dull stare twists something in his guts. The bottomless rivers of cloudy tears flowing in their irises are full of cruelty and contempt as they land on them without a single blink. It is too much information at the same time, it is a flood of colorful auras and shiny halos blinding his mind. But despite the fear eating his heart slowly, bites after bites, he still feels this fascination beyond control, this force pushing him to the celestial beings. They blink their eyes in the same motion and the ghost floating inside them is gone, leaving bright irises instead. Dean cannot help opening his lips and letting a little sigh of astonishment escape them.

They are a uniform plain and at first, Dean only sees this wave of pale blue grace. But as he narrows his eyes, he starts to see them one by one. Before he met Castiel, he always saw the angels as made of light and ice. Blonde hair, crystal clear blue eyes, skin as pale as snow. But now, he realizes he was far from the truth. There are hundreds of them, and yet not a single one of them looks like his brother. Some of them have milky, nearly translucent skin, others tan and golden like honey, and some are as dark as the night. Dean sees eyes from gray to blue, and from green to black. He sees long red hair, and he sees short brown strands falling into curls. And the most impressive is still their wings. Castiel did not lie when he said they were angels' most beautiful gift. There are warm brown wings covered with specks of gold, and there are ones tainted of a blue so dark it appears black, and there are ones so white they burn his eyes. Some of them are light and slightly tainted of pink or blue, and others look like thick oil has been poured on them as their color changes everytime a feather shivers.

 

Suddenly, one of them makes a step to face them. Hair so blonde it looks silver, deep black eyes, brown wings with white tips. “We are glad to see everything went as planned and that you have no problem with this second life.” He says coldly, before his dark eyes glimmer and he gets closer, one of his wings unfolding to touch Aniel's arm. “I am glad to see you alive.” He whispers and his voice flows so soft around them.

 

Aniel answers with a thin smile and a soft bright blow of his soul. “Thanks.” He answers before he glances behind his brother's shoulder. The other angels give him smiles or serious nods or even happy beats of their wings. Dean sees in their eyes the respect they feel for Aniel, the way he seems to be way above them, as some sort of dark leader. “I see Dad has been working.” His eyes flutter back on the angel. “What about the archangels?”

 

His brother has a small sarcastic laugh and his eyes are briefly tainted by anger. “The archangels? Do not think about them, they will not come to help us.”

 

“Not even Gabriel?” Charlie suddenly says, stepping closer to Aniel, her cinnamon wings half open behind her. The silver angel's head turns to her and his aura turns to gold, a wave of affection rushing through her. His eyes are full of tenderness as he gives her a compassionate look.

 

“Not even him.” He says softly. “None of us know where he is.”

 

She nods and her eyes sadden as she steps behind Aniel, her wings dropping on her back. Aniel pushes her shoulder gently with the tip of his wing, but she does not move as she crosses her arms on her chest and looks at the ground. He turns back to the other angel with a slight frown.

“So, why are you all here now? Why was I the first to be rebuilt?” His confusion spreads on his features. “Why did you left me alone on Earth?” He asks in a breath.

 

The angel has a small one-sided smile. “We are sorry for this, but it was not our choice.” The others nod sadly behind him. “You were the strongest of us all and He wanted to see if you could come back to Earth the same way as before. If you could… adapt after what you have been through.” He sighs deeply. “Then, He took care of us, one by one, until we were all ready for our mission.” His eyes dive into Aniel's. “He leaded us to our leader. You.”

 

Aniel blinks. “Leader?” He shakes his head, having a nervous laugh. “I'm no leader. You saw what happened when I faced Amara. It didn't end well.”

 

“We know.” The angel answers calmly. “But it was Lucifer's fault. He-”

Before he can finish his sentence, a murmur swells behind him, a wave of whispers rising among the angels. It starts in the front, and they lean one to another, their tongues snapping in their mouths, eyes fluttering behind Aniel. Anger, disappointment, shock, sorrow, pity and even curiosity spread on their faces and they all turn to the same point as they are still whispering one and only one name.

 

_Castiel….Castiel….Castiel….Castiel….Castiel….Castiel….Castiel….Castiel…_

 

“Castiel is here!” Someone shouts and some hold their breaths, some approach a little, some just glower at the heart of all this noise.

 

Dean freezes and turns slowly to Castiel with mechanical moves, as if all his bones and muscles turned into steel. The angel grew terribly pale and he stares at the army of angels with wide open eyes. Dean notices his hands are trembling and for a second, Castiel steps back, nearly hiding behind the demon's tall silhouette. In the shadows of the house, Dean doubts the angels are seeing them clearly and when he sees them narrowing their eyes at them, he realizes they must have felt Castiel's soul nearby.

The silver angel frowns and moves to look behind Aniel's shoulder as he repeats Castiel's name slowly, carefully, as if the name could set fire to his tongue. Next to Dean, Castiel swallows loudly and his soul becomes colder, tainted of a heavy fear that could be seen from miles away. He takes a deep, shaking breath before he starts moving to them.

 

Dean grabs his wrist and stops his steps. Castiel faces him with a questioning look. “What are you doing?” Dean mutters, worry piercing in his voice.

 

“Dean, they'll not do anything to me.” Castiel answers softly, trying to gather his strength, as if he was a ship pushed on the agitated sea. Deep down, he does not want to face this alone, he knows too well the looks that will fall on him. The angel who fell in love with a poisonous, cursed soul, that fought through Heaven to Hell with no other reason than the burning feeling in his chest. A leader who became dust and ash for a monster. Dean releases his arm slowly, real terror tainting his eyes as he watches the angel turn around and walk to the sea of snow and silver.

 

Castiel feels smaller with every step he takes. His breathing is painful, it feels like fire in his lungs, like he swallowed broken glass. He is afraid of entering the light, afraid of the looks full of pity they will give him, afraid of the shock they will feel when they will see the gap in his back.

He gets out of the shadow and enters the ring of light the Sun throws on the ground. The breeze is cool and soothing but nothing could ease the sickness he feels in his blood in this moment. He walks slowly to them, step after step, wrapping his soul around him like a thin shield. He finally arrives next to Aniel, who gives him a look full of worry. Charlie immediately walks to the other side, the two angels framing his body of celestial silver and gold.

 

The silver creature in front of him has a thin smile that soon spreads on his whole features. His wings have a happy beat that throws spark and dust all around him. Behind him, the crowd is divided. Some glare at Castiel, and some give him a soft beating of their colorful soul, making ribbons flow to him, wrap themselves around him.

“We did not know you were here, Castiel.” The angel murmurs and he moves a little to enter Castiel's bubble of grace. He looks like he is about to say more but he suddenly stops, frowning, tasting the strange savor the aura has on his tongue. One of his wing spreads unwillingly and curls to touch Castiel's, ready to feel his feathers tangle with black ink ones. But he only meets empty space, still vibrating of emotions, pulsing of energy.

 

There is a strangled sound in his throat and he blinks, completely lost at sea. He mutters something under his breath, eyes diving into Castiel's heart. An angel behind him, devoured by curiosity, stepped silently closer and is now freezing under shock, searching for the familiar shape behind Castiel, long threads of darkness moving in the wind. Soon, a murmur covers the army that starts moving to them with hesitant steps, the most hateful losing their loathing immediately.

The silver angel blinks. “Amara?” He asks in a breath and Castiel answers with a slight nod. “But Lucifer… he was not with her, right?” He asks, raising eyes full of dull hope to Castiel.

 

“He was.” Castiel whispers back, before he steps closer and puts a hand on his shoulder. He gives him another weak smile, just a ghost spreading on his lips. “Don't worry, I'll be fine.” He says, his voice slightly shaking under his words.

 

He feels soft blows of grace hitting him tenderly, grieving with him. Some of them are soft, warm and familiar, with a strong scent of woods and cinnamon, while others are colder, a bit cloudy and painfully bright. Castiel glances around, and he is stunned by the innocent, pale faces he sees. Some are just children to him, they must be a few centuries old, if not decades. The youngest are easily recognizable. They look around with wide open eyes, trying to absorb every color, every sensation floating around them. They swing on their feet, far away from the real soldiers who stand still without blinking. Their wings are short, the largest feathers with round edges barely reaching their waists. The top is covered by smaller ones, downy and moving in the soft breeze. Their eyes are way too clear as they stare at the landscape around with awe.

Castiel swallows down hardly when he realizes. These children, these stars that barely had the time to shine, they are not here to fight. No, this task will be for the older ones, the ones that are like galaxies spinning since the beginning of times, the real warriors with silver blades and battle cries that rip the skies apart, making the world tremble of fear. No, these unfortunate souls will be thrown on the front line, they will be the first ones to collapse. They will be nothing but a shield to buy their stronger brothers some time. They will be insects under Amara's feet.

 

He is suddenly pulled out of his thoughts when a voice shaking of anger resonates from across the field. “You deserved it since the beginning!”

 

Castiel raises his eyes to see the angel that shouted these words, and sees a tall silhouette with dark hair and brown eyes that looks like they are tainted of a dirty red. His wings are the same muddy color, beating the air furiously. He glowers at Castiel, clenching his jaw. “It's already a shame you kept your wings when you fell!” He spits at him.

 

Castiel flinches but his ache is soon thrown away when all the other angels – all of them – turn to their brother, pure astonishment on their faces. It is a thing to feel loathing and disgust for his brethren, it is another to celebrate the loss of something as pure and precious as his wings. A sea of whispers swells around him, walls closing, eyes darker than the night.

“What?” The angel shouts, his stare like knives in Castiel's heart. “You call yourself an angel, but deep down, what are you?” He asks, his venom creating sparks on his dark wings. “I think you're nothing but a coward.”

 

“ **SILENCE**!” The silver angel thunders, and every angel around stops speaking, lowering their heads to stare at the ground, shaking soldiers in the misty field. Each one of them tries to hide behind their wings, tries to protect themselves from the lightning crackling in the air.

 

Except for the one dark angel with bloody eyes that does not seem to care. He starts walking to them, each of his steps making Castiel's bones tremble. “You want to know what I think?” The angel shouts, getting closer and closer. “I think it's a crime you're still alive! You should have been punished for what you've done!” He clenches his fists, now only a few steps away, the angels letting him pass, too stunned to react in front of this celestial storm. “You chose these disgusting feelings over your duty, and you left your entire army without a leader!”

 

“I never wanted to leave you on your own.” Castiel says behind his teeth, clenching his jaw as he starts approaching the wild volcano bubbling in front of him. His grace moves dangerously, throwing sparks of anger around him. Aniel protests and tries to make him move back but Castiel ignores him. Even without wings, he seems more powerful than every other angel. His steps are confident, his eyes are fixed strong on his enemy. “I never thought I'd be cast out of Heaven for saving a life.” He mutters.

 

“Really?” The angel answers, raising an eyebrow, incredulous. He shakes his head with a little cruel laugh. “But that wasn't a life. That was an abomination.” Castiel's eyes darken and he clenches his jaw, an answer about to snap like a solar flare to his brother. This one lowers his head and dives his eyes into Castiel's. “I should have killed you with my own hands.”

 

Aniel, Charlie and the other angel starts to mutter behind them and they call Castiel's name, telling him to stop whatever he is doing. Deep down, he knows nothing good can come out of this affront and he knows he is too weak to fight. But his brother's words make the rage flow in his veins and he cannot keep himself from stepping closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

“You don't have the right to chose either a life is worth saving or not.” Castiel says, facing the angel with bloody, muddy eyes and wings.

 

He has a laugh that freezes Castiel's soul. The other angels hold their breaths. “Maybe.” He whispers before his eyes completely darken and his wings spread on his sides. “But you're already dead to me.” He says before he jumps on Castiel, his pale hands already trying to catch his tan throat.

 

There is a shout behind them, followed by a growl full of rage. Castiel barely has the time to feel a ball of red aura brushing against him before a blurry silhouette jumps on his adversary, pushing him several feet away in the dust. Castiel stares at his brother, eyes wide open, breathless, as the crowd gasps of surprise. A shiver shakes it like a wave and a few angels step back, wings folded neatly behind them, pressed tight against their backs. The angel who fell on the mud does not get up, he just stares without even breathing, suddenly looking small and frail with his wings open behind him on the soil.

Dean stands between him and Castiel, fists clenched and trembling, all his features tense as a bow, as a deep growl rolls in his throat, ready to thunder. His eyes snapped to a cold black and his aura pulses with the same electric red they saw when Aniel pushed him to the edge. It is a cloud, a storm moving around him, and the angels stare at him as if he was the Devil himself, if not worse, only making the whispers rise louder.

 

_“What is he doing here?”_

 

_“I thought he was with her!”_

 

_“Why is he still alive?!”_

 

_“Must be destroyed...”_

 

Dean clenches his jaw and steps back next to Castiel, still staring at the one who dared to even think of harming him. The angel stares at him in complete astonishment, his whole body still sore of anger, his blood boiling softly like a red river in his veins. The demon turns his head to look at him and his eyes turn to green again, soften suddenly like a fire covered with honey.

“You OK?” He asks, his soul turning around Castiel, checking the bruises and wounds the dark angel could have caused. It is gentle and affectionate, tainted in burgundy, far away from the black sea of oil he nearly throw on Castiel's brother. The angel nods and Dean sighs of relief, his hand finding Cas', pressing his fingers in his hot palm.

 

When Castiel raises back his head, the whole army is staring at them in the most silent shock, their eyes as wide as full moons. The silver angel looks at their tangled hands, before he looks at Dean, blinking of confusion. “We thought you were with her...” He whispers, diving his black eyes into Dean, searching the truth in the colors of his soul.

 

“I was.” Dean answers and his husky voice makes a few angels jump, as if it was nothing more than a beast growling at their feet, red glowing eyes piercing their grace. The demon has a little sarcastic laugh. “Guess a lot happened while you were all up there.”

 

“But why did she leave without you?” A confused voice asks from behind.

 

Dean searches it and his eyes fall on a short man with blueish wings. “She will come back.” He answers gravely. “She wants me back.”

 

“Why did you help her?” Another says, a frail blonde woman with dark gray wings.

 

“I didn't want to.” Dean says, staring at her, making her freeze completely from head to toes. “She forced me.”

 

“Are you the reason Castiel lost his wings?” A dark-skinned angel asks, his breathtaking blue eyes fixed on the demon.

 

“Yes.” Dean admits with a strangled sob in his voice, and at the same time Castiel shouts “No!”, his blue eyes glimmering in the afternoon.

 

“Alright, alright, enough!” The silver angel thunders and the sea of wings behind him stops fluttering. He turns to Dean and Castiel. “Could you tell me what happened for you to be in such a condition?” He asks, his head slightly tilting to Castiel.

 

“It doesn't matter.” Castiel answers softly, but Dean notices the way his voice thunders for a moment, cold and burning, meaning he does not want to dive back into painful memories. He stares at his brother without blinking. “What matters is that we find a way to destroy Amara before she does too much damage.”

 

Silver head nods before he passes a hand in his hair, in a strangely human motion. The other angels nod behind him. “Some of us are going to hunt her down and keep her away while we set a plan to kill her. But I do not think we can hold her for long.” He admits, a heavy weight falling on his shoulders.

 

“We think Dean might be the one who can beat her.” Aniel says, making their heads turn to him. For the first time, his eyes are serious and belong to a million year old celestial being, not to some madman with tasteless jokes.

 

“We thought it too.” His brother answers, a beat of his chocolate wings punctuating his words. He turns to the demon who freezes under his stare. “We think that you, Dean, are the key to break her. Your bond may be dangerous, but we think it is our only chance to bring peace back on Earth.”

 

“I'm not what you're thinking. I'm not some kind of savior.” Dean says and something in his voice makes Castiel turn to him, worried. The demon's silhouette may stands tall and powerful like a mountain, but his tone is afraid, all his being wanting to crawl in the dark, away from the battles and the ache. “You really want to put your lives in my hands?” He adds, acid.

 

“It is our only choice.” The angel answers and Dean is surprised by the softness of his voice. “We know about your past, and we know about your present. But nothing, and no one, not even Fate, could tell us about your future. We believe you are the only one who can break free from the Creation itself.” His eyes glow for a moment and Dean finds himself getting lost into the angel's words. “You are not the slave of Destiny as we are, Dean. This power inside you is the only way the World can be saved, and if you do not trust in this force, I can assure you I do.”

 

Dean looks at him, breathless. “I don't know what to say.” He whispers under the shock. There are hundreds of angels staring at him is he was the Holy Grail, believing only him could save them from destruction. A demon, the kind they loathe since the beginning of times, the monster they saw running and breaking lives for entire months.

 

Castiel makes a step and his grace seems to shine a little brighter. “Thank you, Ezekiel. Your help will be very precious.” He gives the skies a little look. “I don't see how we could win alone.”

 

Dean feels a strange sensation now that he can put a name on a face. The silver angel seems a little less colder now. Ezekiel has a tired smile and it suddenly strike Dean that all of these creatures have died. As mesmerizing as they look, they all felt a pain like no one could ever imagine and they have been put back together, bloody pieces after bloody pieces like a gruesome puzzle in God's hands.

“I will send a patrol around this whole state.” Ezekiel says before he turns to Dean, his black eyes melting like ink in the demon's soul. “We would like to talk to your brother.” He says and Dean's whole body stiffens.

 

“Why?” He snaps, suddenly wary.

 

“We believe he could give us some information about Amara that could help us fighting her.” Seeing Dean's tense features, he softens a little. “We believe it is important, and we will stop whenever he wants.”

 

Dean thinks for a second, still unsure of the idea. He knows what Sam has been through and the last thing he wants is to make him drown back into these past years. “You should ask him.” He finally decides, thinking no one can choose for his brother except himself.

 

“Alright.” Ezekiel answers softly. “Call him.”

 

Dean turns around and his look falls on his brother who stood silently in the shadows the whole time. Sam gives him his stare back with a confused frown. Dean makes a small sign with his head, inviting him to approach. Sam does not move for a second, fear paralyzing his limbs. Then, he shivers and starts walking to them with mechanical moves, Eileen following him with the same worry painted across her face.

Sam arrives next to them and his eyes travel nervously on the sea of angels facing him, filling his garden like odd roses. He gives Dean a questioning glance but his brother reassures him with a small nod. Sam turns to look at Ezekiel who gives him a gentle smile.

 

“Sam Winchester.” He says and Sam freezes when he hears his name rolling on the angel's tongue. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He adds, holding out a hand to Sam.

 

The tall man swallows down hardly but there is a fascinated light in his eyes that flickers under the fear and Dean cannot help but smile at his brother's innocent reaction, truly mesmerized by the angel in front of him. Sam shakes Ezekiel's hand with a nervous curve of his lips. “It's a pleasure too.” He says, his voice almost just like a whisper.

 

Ezekiel's soul has an amused green blow before he steps back slowly. “We would like to ask you about the time you passed with Amara.” He says and Sam's smile fades, his eyes darkening in a second. Watching the man's face crumble, the angel curls his wing to him in an attempt to soothe him. “As I told your brother, you do not have to answer all our questions, and we will stop if you want to.”

 

Dean moves a little to look at Sam. “You don't have to do it.” He says, frowning.

 

“It's OK.” His brother answers, cutting him off. “I will do it.” He gives Dean a weak smile. “If it can help us catching Amara, I'll do it.”

 

Dean claps his brother's shoulder and gives him a comforting smile. Ezekiel turns and murmurs a few words. Half of the angels look at him before they are separated from the rest of the group. He tells them a few instructions and Dean feels his heart have a painful little jump when he hears him telling them to be careful. As much as he hated their kind for years, he is not ready to see them getting slaughtered in the blink of the eye.

They beat their wings and one by one, they disappear, flying miles away to jump into a sea of black danger. The ones that stay stand there, looking around them, a little ill-at-ease. A few sit on the ground, surrounded by the pines and soft grass, their wings spread behind them under the sun.

 

Ezekiel turns back to them and for the first time his eyes fall on Eileen. This one freezes and her eyes flash of anger and loathing. The angel represents everything she wants to destroy since she lost her family. Sure, she learned to live with Castiel, Charlie, Aniel and even Lucifer, but she is suddenly surrounded by hundreds of hostile creatures that do not see her as a human nor an angel. She is stuck in between, in this veil of confusion, the massacre of her loved ones as the only link with them.

Ezekiel has a surprised blink of his black eyes but his expression is always as soft as the wind. A glimpse of what could be pain, shame and guilt appears on his soft features made of ice and he gives Eileen a prudent look. “I'm sorry about what happened to you.” He whispers and for the first time, his mask of the perfect leader falls to let the human side of his being appear. “Your father was my friend and...” He bites his lip, icy emotions flowing around him. “I wish I could have stopped what happened.”

 

“How do you know my story?” Eileen whispers in return, his previous rage fading away.

 

“We all know it.” Ezekiel whispers and next to him, Aniel lowers his head, probably flashing with actions he is not proud of. “I was one of those who fought to protect Nephilims. Many of us saw them as monstrous creations that had to be erased, but we did not. We thought every creature had the right to live.” Ezekiel gives her a soft look. “You did not chose this side of you. My brothers chose your fate for you, and I am truly sorry about the pain they caused you.”

 

Eileen shakes her head without a word, tears rising to her warm eyes. Dean blinks before he looks back at Ezekiel, impressed. The guy sure has a power flowing from his words.

The silver angel steps closer and raises a soft hand to Eileen's temple, and she flinches softly under the touch. “I cannot give you what you have lost, but I can give you what you deserve.” He says, as a thin thread of blue light escapes his fingers to dive under her skin. A cold sensation fills her head, making her shiver before he steps back with a gentle curve of his lips.

 

“Better?” He asks and Eileen jumps on her feet, her wings having a distraught beat. Her soul suddenly pulses brighter, swirling hot and cold, shouting and whispering as she looks around, mouth open of astonishment. A car passes by on the road, the engine roaring and she turns to it, her eyes opening wider and wider as she turns again to the trees, the birds singing happily among the pines, the wind blowing on her face, the angels' murmurs on the field, the rustle of feathers, the voice talking to her.

 

Sam has a worried frown as he lands a hand on her arm. She turns to look at him, wonder filling her warm eyes. “Are you alright?” He asks slowly.

 

She blinks a few times as joyful tears roll on her cheeks. “I heard you.” She whispers, jumping again at the sound of her own voice. “I heard you!” She repeats, throwing herself in Sam's arms. This one wraps them around her, a little lost. She steps back and looks at Ezekiel, who is still staring at her with honey soft eyes. “Thank you.” She whispers with a sob trembling in her words.

 

“It's nothing.” He answers tenderly, his wing touching Eileen's. He turns to Sam. “Shall we?” He asks and Sam nods, before the angel turns back and walks to the middle of the field. Dean's brother follows him, Eileen trembling fingers in his palm. Charlie and Aniel look at each other with a shrug before they walk after the little group.

 

Dean stares at them, speechless. He feels dizzy, as if he was slowly emerging from a dream, or as if he was in the middle of one and could not wake up. He turns to Castiel, who looks at the field with the same wide open eyes.

“I think I'm gonna need more than one beer after this.” Dean mutters and the angel nods next to him, still amazed by what he lived. Dean pushes him softly with his shoulder until Castiel turns to him with a bright, alive soul.

 

“What?” He asks, joy shining again inside his irises.

 

“I was thinking...” Dean starts with a smirk that makes Castiel raise an eyebrow, with a questioning look. “No one is at home right now. Half the angels are gone, the others are bored to death.” He stops, his eyes melting on Castiel as he gets closer, wraps an arm around his waist. “I think we deserve some time alone, no?”

 

Castiel shakes his head with a soft smile. “You're an unbelievable man, Dean Winchester.” He says and Dean answers with a thunderous laugh as the angel leads him inside, grace pulsing powerful blue and silver.

 

**X**

 

Sam has a long sigh. His chest hurts, his heart beats way too fast behind his ribs, licking the bones with tongues of fire. It feels like every threads of this evil muscle is wrapping itself around his lungs, spiderweb around them, making him suffocate. He closes his eyes, clenches his fists.

Eileen gives him a worried look, putting a hand on his arm. “Is everything alright?” She says, another bright spark appearing in her eyes as sounds and noises fill her mind.

 

Sam passes a hand on his face, runs his fingers through his hair. Ezekiel is staring at him, sitting on the ground in front of him. His brown and white wings are spread behind him, turning gold and silver under the heavy sun.

“We can stop now, if you want.” The angel murmurs with a compassionate smile.

 

Sam nods and clears his throat. “Yeah, I'm gonna have a break.” He gets up and brushes against Eileen's shoulder. The Nephilim gives him a worried look but he shakes his head, trying to chase her doubts away.

 

He starts walking to the house and he feels the angels' eyes following his steps. They are all staring at him like a curious beast, a strange animal that escaped its circus. He knows what they see when they look at him. A broken man that traveled the country side by side with evil itself. A brainless puppet that suffered and cried shameful tears of agony, that shivered and shattered under Amara's glacial fingers. They see him as a bird that fell off the nest, lost and torn apart.

_Look at this poor creature! See how odd, how broken, how miserable it is! It's a shame we can't do anything to save him! If only he didn't share his blood with the enemy, if only he didn't love the one who betrayed us, if only he didn't give his heart to an abomination!_

 

Their little silver eyes feel like metallic insects on Sam's spine and he shudders, entering the house, the door slamming as the wind pushes it with a violent gust. He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. He is about to bring it to his lips when there are distraught silhouettes coming out of the corridor with muffled sounds. Sam stops his motion, his eyes opening wider and wider with an incredulous expression.

 

Dean has the same shocked distortion of his features. He looks at Sam, heat rising to his cheeks, his t-shirt in one hand, disheveled, glowing Castiel by his side. A thin veil of sweat is still covering their skin as Dean starts to mutter explanations and Castiel looks at the ground, biting the inside of his cheek to repress a laugh.

“It's not what you think.” Dean finally says, diving his eyes into Sam's and his brother sees the mad golden sparks still floating in them.

 

Sam puts his glass down, incredulous. “Tell me you didn't….?” His eyes travel from Dean to Castiel, who managed to put his clothes back faster than the demon. Sam shuts his eyes, trying to chase everything that is running through his imagination. “In my house?” He asks with a straight face, eyelids still pressed tight.

 

There is an awkward silence and he opens them again, Dean shrugs with a forced smile that seems to be his apologies. Sam rolls his eyes. “You know what? I don't want to know, OK?” He says, staring at both his brother and the angel.

 

Castiel gives Dean an embarrassed look. “I'm- uhm- I'm going outside to see...” He starts walking to the door under Dean's incredulous expression. “How everything is going!” He adds before rushing to the field, Dean protesting behind him.

 

“Son of a...” He mutters behind his teeth as he turns to face his brother, who stares at him, raising an eyebrow. “Stop it!” The demon says before he puts his t-shirt on and walks to the fridge, taking a beer out. “So, how are you doin'?”

 

Sam takes his glass and sits at the table, Dean taking his place in front of him. Sam's eyes darken and he bites his bottom lip, staring at the knots in the wood. “I'm fine, I guess.” He says, his soul suddenly turning cold.

 

Dean frowns. “What happened?” He asks, leaning to his brother, worry painting his features. His eyes flash bright red for a second and he clenches his jaw, controlling the anger rising inside him. “What did this guy do?”

 

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing, he did nothing.” He stops, thinks for a second as his fingers nervously wrap themselves around his glass. He takes a deep breath and dives his eyes into Dean's. “It's just that there are things I'd rather not remember.” He whispers.

 

Dean has a weak, joyless smile. “Yeah, I know that.” He answers, taking a swallow of his bear. The fresh alcohol flows softly in his throat. He looks back at Sam. “I promise we'll find Amara and we're gonna make her pay.” He says, his eyes as hard as stones in the fire.

 

“I know.” Sam says softly. A strange, sad wave blurs his irises. “Do you think we'll have a normal life after that?” He asks, a tumultuous hope moving in his eyes, striking Dean right in the heart.

 

He has a little sarcastic laugh. “Us?” He shakes his head, a lump on his throat. He wishes he could lie to his brother, tell him everything is going to be alright and they will live an apple pie life for the rest of their days. But a cruel, black monster in the depths of his soul tells him he is deadly wrong. And in front of Sam's broken expression, he cannot think of lying to him. “I don't think so.” He says softly.

 

Sam smiles at him, trying to hide the deception that roots deep inside him. “I guess I already knew it.” He whispers, lowering his head to hide the bitter feeling floating in his brain. He breathes silently for a minute before he looks back at Dean, a new warm light in the back of his eyes. “You know, after I remembered everything… I-I remembered Mom and Dad and I thought I'll never be happy again. And after Jessica, I thought I'll never find someone like her, someone I loved like her. And I was right.” Dean gives him a shocked look and Sam has a soft smile. “I found someone I loved more than her. I know, it probably sounds wrong, but now I realizes nothing's written yet.” He dives his eyes into Dean's. “Maybe we'll live after that.”

 

Dean blinks with a nervous laugh, hiding the tears that want to burst out of him. “No need to play it sappy with me, Sammy.” He says but Sam sees in his eyes that his words moved something inside his brother.

 

“Yeah, well, if you saw yourself when you're with Cas, you wouldn't say that.” Sam snaps with an amused laugh.

 

“Shut up.” Dean says, his heart warm again. This bond with his brother was like a void in his chest when he was gone, but now it is back and it feels better than Heaven.

 

“No, I mean it.” Sam says, his eyes filled with liquid gold and turquoise lakes, a tender hint in his voice. “I'm glad you found each other. You deserve it.”

 

Dean gets up and puts a hand on Sam's shoulder. “Thank you.” He says in a serious, tender tone. “Now, let's go outside so I'll make him pay for leaving me alone with you!” He adds with a grin.

 

Sam laughs and follows him. He opens the door and the sun enters the room, leaving a burning golden ring on their smiles. He arrives on the field, his heart feeling heavy, but it is a good kind of heavy, as if he was so full of joy he was overflowing, his soul spurting out of his skin to kiss the ground.

He walks side by side with Dean and they look at the angels in their garden. Some of them are sitting, their backs tense, their eyes cold as ice as they wait for orders, others are completely laying on the soft grass, their wings spread wide under them as they observe the sky, arms crossed under their head. Some walk around, visit the woods, the sun sliding on their dusty feathers. They look at the red roses, breathing deep, eyes wide open in awe, pointing at them with excited noises. They are like a joyful hive, buzzing in the hot afternoon, wings beating happily behind them.

 

“We'll find a way.” Dean suddenly says, making his brother turn to him. “We have the angels now.” He adds, giving a look around, spotting Castiel's raven hair among the crowd.

 

“I'm going to fight.” Sam answers without hesitating.

 

It is Dean's turn to snap his head to him. He has a gentle smile, but a hint of worry pierce his eyes. “Listen I know you want to be part of the plan.” He says, pushing his brother softly with his soul, a thin smirk on his lips. “Besides, I can't teach you how to fight. We don't have enough time.”

 

Sam freezes a little and he clenches his jaw. “You don't have to.” He simply says behind his teeth. “She thought I'd fight you if you tried to save me. She taught me.”

 

Dean stops, his heart like a block of ice. Amara taught his little brother how to fight and stab and bite, God knows how. He cannot help but imagine Sam falling on his knees on the floor, bruised and sore, as her voice would thunder on him, forcing him to get up again and clench his trembling fists.

 

He is about to add something when an angel appears in the middle of the field, covered in blood, with threads of darkness dripping from his wings. “The patrol...” He starts, stopped by a wave of thick poison in his throat. “She is in town...” He says before collapsing on the ground, shivering of an evil fever, eyes rolled upwards.

 

Dean shivers.

War has already begun.


	19. Earth Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title + Inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zTRnCP6Zxg

The angels start to appear, one by one, in the middle of the field. Some are carried by their brothers, barely breathing. They stumble and have to stop with every step they take, broken limbs making them clench their jaws, swallowing back the agony that rises in their throats like green, electric acid. Some wings are hanging in the dust behind them with tattered feathers and visible bones, a thick sticky black liquid dripping from them, like birds stuck in darkness, as if they bathed in a pure sea of oil. They try to beat them, chase the heavy sensation away, but they can barely move them and they are now useless threads of grace falling behind them.

But the worst is not that they are terribly wounded. No, the worst is that they are still alive. All of them. There are dozens of distraught beating hearts, dozens of eyes full of suffering and anger. Some look like they are about to collapse and give their last breath, but not a single one has faded under Amara's claws.

 

Dean swallows down hardly. His head aches, his mind twists and spins and he feels worry moving in his stomach. Amara did not spare the angels because she was merciful. No, this attack is cruel, frightening. She could have simply smite the patrol and she would have been even more powerful. But she is twisted and mad, and she sent a message with this disaster. Something that could rhyme along “ _See what I have done to your pacific little group? Now, it is nothing compared to what I am going to do to an army that wants my blood to flow_.”

 

Dean clenches his jaw. It is nothing but a game for Amara. She is boiling of anger, but she is not foolish, not at all. All her moves are prepared, all her pawns are in the right place, ready to jump on them with blood stained fangs. She knows exactly the limits of her power: there are none. She knows she can walk into that field and snap her fingers and hundreds of little graces will explode behind her like a gruesome firework. What are they in front of her? They are wrath and they are forces beyond comprehension, they are creatures from the skies above shouting among the clouds, silver blades knocking together with deafening sounds.

But she is made of earth and shadows, she has no master, no cage, no home. Nothing holds her back, she has nothing to lose. She can fight and bite and she will not have to turn around one second, not a single brother or lover falling in the mud behind her, not a single soul she has to protect. She will walk slowly like a carnivorous beast, rolling her hips and the grass will burn under her feet, flames licking her ankles as if she was a goddess. The dirty Earth will venerate her and the darkness will shine just a little brighter for her.

 

Suddenly, an angel walks to Dean, hobbling slightly, thick red blood flowing from his temple. His white shirt is slightly open on his chest, his flesh ripped to shreds underneath. He stumbles and he looks like he is about to burst out in a dozens of balls of white light. He arrives in front of Dean and he has to take a deep breath to speak, pain distorting his features. A few honey brown feathers appear under the thick coat of blackness, shining like fireflies in the night.

“She has a message for you.” He whispers, his dull green eyes diving into Dean's, like a strange mirror. He gets closer and every move seems to cost him the most awful ache. His lungs feel like they will be sucked into the depths of his chest, as if there was a black hole turning and turning behind his ribs, biting avidly in the soft air filling them. He raises his hands, wincing again and opens his shirt a little. On his angelic skin, on the soft immaculate flesh, Amara carved **I AM COMING**. With her claws, with a knife, with her power, maybe all of them in one motion of evil light. Next to him, Sam holds his breath, shock going off in the back of his head.

 

Dean shivers and he looks at the angel, shame and guilt swirling in his irises. How can he save them if the simple fact of existing in the same universe as Amara is already a threat? How can he protect them if his breathing is fire and his heart pumps loud and black in his ears and he still does not know how, or if, he will ever be able to fight her? What is he now, if not the one who destroys angels, if not the one who brings suffering and desolation to every species in the Creation?

 

The angel's eyes roll upwards and Dean barely has the time to catch the celestial being before this one falls on the hard ground, trembling of the same evil fever. He raises his head to see the other angels, the ones that stayed on the field, running to their brothers, trying to help them the best they can. He sees Castiel walking to him, bright blue eyes shining of worry. Ezekiel, Aniel, Charlie and Eileen follows him, wings half spread on their sides, slightly shaking despite their efforts to hide their fear.

“Let me.” Ezekiel says, a frown marking his face. He passes an arm around the dying angel's back and takes him away from Dean. The demon stands there, breathless, as he watches the silver creature walk away, carrying his brother with him. The other angels are doing the same, helping their wounded brethren as they lay them down on the soft grass, under the burning sun.

 

“What are we gonna do?” Dean whispers, watching the sea of angels move on the soil with moans of pain and shrieking of black agony.

 

“We can't help them all.” Sam says next to him. When Dean turns to him, he sees the frown darkening his face. His brother looks at him, worry swirling in his eyes. “They'll not be safe here.”

 

“They'll heal.” Aniel answers and his eyes are as cold as blinding ice fields. He barely blinks, his hard stare fixed on the two brothers. “They're here to fight. We can't send them back to Heaven.”

 

“But we don't know when Amara will be back!” Dean shouts, suddenly feeling the storm roaring in his veins, the darkness itching and shouting in his dark blood.

 

The angel answers him with the same numb look. He changed. He changed since the moment his brethren arrived. He does not have the smallest spark of humanity, not anymore. He is here to lead an army, wanting it or not and he bows in front of God's orders, his features twitching of annoyance.

 

“Dean is right.” Castiel says softly as he stands next to the demon. He gives the army a worried glance. “They can't fight, Aniel. They'll never be completely healed. We don't have time.”

 

“It's our only chance!” Aniel answers and his wings have an angry beat before they spread wide on his sides, their shadow weighing down on them like the pillars of un unknown, terrifying temple. He clenches his jaw, boiling of wrath, his head tilting a little to stare at Dean. “Unless you're ready to surrender, fighting is the only way.”

 

“You know I won't go back with her.” Dean answers behind his teeth.

 

Aniel steps closer and Dean realizes he is much taller than him, his head of blonde hair above him like a sun, as his gray stones of eyes dive into Dean's soul. “You better find a solution then.” He says before he turns back and walks to the other angels, his wings as tense as bows before war.

 

Eileen sighs deeply, and with a quick move of her hand, she releases her hair that flows in a smooth wave of brown around her face. She passes a hand in it, eyes lost into space, under Sam's breathless, starry expression.

 

“Do you think they're going to die?” She asks softly, looking at Castiel.

 

“I don't know.” The angel whispers back. “I think that if she wanted to kill them, she would have done it.” He shakes his head, exhausted. “But they're weakened and I doubt they will be able to fight if she comes back.”

 

“Not if.” Dean says unwillingly, biting his lip. “When.”

 

“What do you think she is waiting for?” Charlie suddenly asks, and Dean turns to her. He nearly forgot the soft purple aura floating around her and he blinks, surprised, when he sees it pulses nervously with an electric fog on the edges. She does not look at ease, her wings folded neatly behind her, her arms crossed on her chest.

 

“I don't know.” He answers as he narrows his eyes at her. “Are you OK?” He asks suddenly, causing her to give him a confused look.

 

“Yeah, of course.” She answers, before she stops and thinks for a second, swinging on her feet. “It's just that… I don't know what's going to happen and… when it'll be over, they will take me back to Heaven.” She says, her heart as heavy as a stone.

 

“Don't worry.” Dean says, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “”We'll see that later, but I promise I won't let them. Alright?”

 

She nods slightly with a weak smile and her eyes shine of tiredness. Eileen wraps a wing around her and Charlie leans her head on the Nephilim's shoulder, tangling her warm feathers with gray, fresh ones.

 

“Do they need to eat or something?” Eileen asks, giving Castiel a look, the tip of her wing pointing at the wounded angels.

 

“Not really.” The angel answers with a look to the celestial beings. He thinks for a moment, his eyes narrowing, calm waves crashing against them. A glimpse appears in them and he turns back to Eileen. “Actually, it could help them. We usually do not feel hunger, but it can help us when we are severely wounded. I guess it could help them healing.” He says, a bright star of hope shining in the back of his irises.

 

Eileen has a wide smile that spreads on her whole features. “Well, then I have work to do!” She exclaims and her soul has a joyful orange blow.

 

Sam frowns. “What are you talking about?” He gives her an incredulous look. “There are at a hundred of them!”

 

“And so what?” She answers softly. “I'm not going to let them die.” She shrugs. “And besides, I've nothing better to do.”

 

“You can't help them all.” Sam says gently, his aura turning into a golden honey, flowing lazily around him. Dean's heart has a painful jump when he realizes that in another universe, they could have a normal life. There, safe in their little house, surrounded by roses and puppies, maybe with a few joyful children bursting of laughter, filling the heavy afternoon. But instead, they are stuck here, with blood and tears, loss and grief and a part of them knows there may be no way out, that they are trapped forever in this deadly circle. And the worst is, none of them knows if they will ever make it out alive.

 

Eileen has a smile and moves slowly under Charlie's head. The angel stands right again and watches the Nephilim walking to Sam with an amused grin. “Watch me.” Eileen says and Sam has an half incredulous, half tender smile.

 

She walks away to the house, her gray wings spread under the hot wind and once she entered it, Charlie has a smirk. “I think I love her.” She says, causing Sam to punch her softly on her shoulder, worsening her giggle.

 

Dean would laugh with them but there are knots in his guts and the dread roots deeper in his stomach. He swallows down and forces a smile. But deep down, it is fear and anger bubbling and he knows the End will soon be there. Amara is going to appear with lightning and darkness and he will not be able to do anything. He can pretend there is a way out of this maze, but the cruel voice in his mind tells him otherwise. For these sick whispers, there is only one option and it makes him shudder, for it is the same nightmare coming night after night, making him wake with a start, covered in cold sweat and shivers, giving terrified looks around.

 

Amara comes into this field and snaps her fingers. Bodies and trees fall with thuds and the sound of breaking bones fills his ears that will start to bleed. The same thick, poisoning river of red flows on the grass and the sun starts to shine brighter on the rotting flesh, making it fizz like gruesome champagne. Ribbons of skin are ripped apart by voracious, carnivorous foxes and wolves made of shadows. Crows pierce eyes and lungs, black birds eat hearts still beating and bleeding and raw. Feathers, graces, souls and whispers float in the air and they shine like specks of pure gold. Amara chants under her breath and unwillingly, Dean follows her, eyes turning black, sanity snapping to mad, neon red as the night swallows him.

And everytime, the road is paved with bodies with familiar bright eyes.

 

**X**

 

Every day is the same. Not that Dean complains about this soft, fresh routine that is setting up in place. He likes the way he knows what he has to do every morning, how his family and the angels are buzzing around him and spinning like an old galaxy. He likes the way he feels, as if he now had a purpose, something to believe and fight for when he wakes up in the morning. Everytime he looks at his brother, or Castiel, or Charlie, everytime his eyes land on the wounded angels, something moves in his heart. Something that wants to protect them, to let out a battle cry for them.

But this feeling, he cannot appreciate it fully. Because everytime it blooms a bit too strong inside him, a wave of poison washes it away. The fear, the anguish, they push all the hope away and everytime he sees the sun rise, they smile widely at him, all his bones trembling. He barely sleeps, he just stares at the ceiling until the morning arrives, bright, terrifying. He and Castiel shares one of the rooms in Sam's house, too afraid something would happen during the night if they ever went home. Each night, he looks at Castiel as he sleeps and it is usually in peace. But often, Castiel would shiver uncontrollably and mutters angelic words, all his body tense and sore. He was taken by awful nightmares and Dean had to wrap his arms around him to soothe him, to make the strangled sobs stop.

 

He tries to push the dark thoughts away but they come back everytime, unleashing wolves and horses that howl in his head, making him wince and turn around in the bed, unable to find Sleep. They would dive their claws in his heart, questioning him, driving him crazy.

_But what are you gonna do, little man? What are you gonna do when She will come back and rip everything you love to shreds? When you'll watch them die one by one, fall at your feet, or worse under your dirty hands, yeah your bloody sweaty shaking palms you ever think about that? What if she controls you again and this electricity between you and her runs again and bites your brain and your eyes turn black and they all look at you and step back and watch you rip out their hearts and lungs with your teeth? Hey, demon, tell me what's like to watch the world crumble at your feet? What's like to know you'll bathe in blood and screams and what's like to never know **when**?_

 

He would grits his teeth and tries to fall asleep, in vain. He would curl in the sheets and throw an arm around Castiel's waist and often, the angel would wake up and dives his worried eyes into his soul. But he would never share his thoughts and doubts, for they were already too frightening inside his head.

 

When the sun would appear completely behind the curtains, they would get up and join the family. The day would start with a quick breakfast Dean could barely swallow and as soon as the last remains of the night would fade, they would start the day, lungs as heavy as the Galaxy itself.

Eileen and Charlie would dive into old dusty books, searching deeper and deeper in the library they found in town. And when they were not busy seeking the impossible, the angel would teach the Nephilim how to fight, despite Sam's protests. Eileen already knew a few things, thanks to the time she spent with the Hunters, but she was pushing herself strong like a storm everytime, wanting to learn and learn, leaving both her and Charlie panting and bruised in the dust. Dean planned to do the same with Sam, but Eileen proved to be a better teacher.

While Sam would fall in the mud with miserable noises and Charlie's uncontrollable laughter, Castiel and Dean would check on the angels. They had been the biggest problem so far. Most of them healed in a few days, if not hours, and if the damages were too great, Eileen would take care of them one by one. As incredible as it was, she managed to prepare meals for the most wounded, watching over them at night as they would be shaken by fever and nightmares. Castiel and Aniel would help her the best they could, carrying their weakened brethren, helping them swallow their water when their mouths felt like fire and ash.

 

Not everything was as disastrous as they thought until they had to take care of their wings. Most angels tried to take the sticky substance off them, but it had melted onto them, and everytime they tried to pull the dark matter, feathers came with it and they could hear angelic screams echoing in the whole field. They tried to help for sure, washing them softly with water and soap but nothing could make it go away. Every day they promised to come back and try again, but the black goo dried and the angels' wings were now stuck in this odd spell, some folded behind them, some half spread, turning into an uncomfortable situation at night. At the beginning, most would complain about how sore and broken they felt, but it soon turned into a deep fear when they started to feel nothing in them. Nothing as the void, the emptiness, not even the slightest breeze rustling in their feathers.

Dean may have hated their kind once, but he just could not stand the vision of these strange birds stuck on the ground, as if the dreadful night had been poured on them. Dean would see them raise their eyes to the skies from time to time, confused, angry, sorrowful frowns scarring their features of thin marble. Some of them even prayed, down on their knees, wings stuck in another universe, hands tied together by blind faith.

 

The angels that were not wounded did not feel better. They would share worried glance and most of them would shiver in their sleep, curling up closer to their brothers and sisters. They could cover the weak bodies shaking in the dark with their own wings, bright warm feathers on cold, motionless ones, like autumn leaves on pale, bloodless corpses. They would whisper soft words in their ears, trying to soothe the celestial grief flowing in their frozen veins and they would caress hair soaked in sweat, rocking shivering graces in their arms, trying to reason the ones who threw slurs to their beloved sky, cursing the Father that threw them on this dirty, impure ground.

The ones that did not suffer from this fever and loathing tried to help them the best they could. They trained with them and Dean was amazed by how graceful, precise their moves were, how beautiful the way they gripped their silver blades and danced around him was, wings spread wide above their heads, eyes flashing blue sky and gray snow, the thrill of the battle swirling in their veins, circling around Dean who shivered and jumped on them with a smirk, darkness and feathers tangled together.

Before they could even think, the day was already falling and they would get up from the dusty soil, shaking wings and heads, sore, numb but comfortably empty, all the tension thrown away in the space. Some would go back to the improvised camp they made in the field, in the shadows of the tender pines. Some would help Eileen and Sam making dinner before they would try to free their brothers' wings from Amara's spell, once again.

 

Dean is getting out of the house after a long, well-deserved shower when he hears Castiel's soft voice filling the empty woods. Around a small camp fire, a few angels are sitting, staring at their dark haired brother with wide open eyes. Dean knows it became a habit and he sees the compassion melted with sorrow in Castiel's irises when he looks at the youngest angels, the ones with innocent, pastel souls. Most of them are afraid and never wanted to fight. In the end, they are children trapped in the eye of the storm, flowers barely blossoming lost in the wild jungle. The other angels are tired or standing on the edge of Death, and they do not have time for these curious little things.

Castiel immediately felt connected to these outcasts, in some strange way, and helped them the best he could, training them, soothing their fears, listening and caring for these abandoned celestial animals. They ask him for stories and he describes them the creation of the Earth and the great battles he lived, and they see the fire, the ice, the swords, the screams, the wings, the soil, the sky. With his words they close their eyes and fly far away from these lives they never wanted.

Dean starts to walk to them with a thin smile, a warm light in his heart. The breeze is cool and soothing and the sound of the leaves and feathers rustling fill his ears. He stops for a moment, turns his head to the source of the wind and closes his eyes under the rough caress. The gusts are a little fresh and brutal sometimes but it rocks him in an odd way, making him fall in some sort of slumber, listening to the pines' lullaby, needles falling far away on the soil with clear sounds, like little knives thrown on ice. He takes a deep breath and empties his lungs, stands like this for long, eternal minutes that feel like thick, liquid gold in his veins.

He opens his eyes and he feels his soul dancing around him, running in circles with soft laughter, turning his head into a silver pond where fairies come to sing around. He starts walking to the little group with slow steps. The camp is rather silent, most angels are already sleeping, curled up against each other. Dean notices with a hint of worry the way shadows covered their features, the way their wings look like some kind of mad artist threw all his black paint on them, wanting to trap them like leaves in amber. Some shiver in their sleep with muffled sounds and their nails dig in the earth, as if they already wanted to bury themselves. Dean has a little sigh and is about to join Castiel when a move catches his attention.

 

Just a few feet away from him, an angel is trying to stand but everytime he gets up, his legs give up underneath his body and he falls back on the ground with a thud. Dean frowns and starts to walk to the celestial being, carefully. As he approaches, he starts to see the drops of sweat rolling on his face, the way his chest rises and crashes too fast, the black goo on his wings turning into a glowing, threatening red and it looks like it is coming closer and closer, tighter around them like ropes.

Dean arrives next to him and squats by his side, a frown marking his forehead. He puts a hand on the angel's shoulder, making him raise his head to look at him. “Hey, you OK buddy?” Dean asks, glancing again at the strange color on his wings. Something seems to move under, as if there was a monster, or an entire world under the thick layer of poison. As if there was something scratching and shouting to make its way out of the spell and makes its nest in soft, comfortable feathers instead.

 

The angel gives Dean a worried, frightened look, his bloodshot eyes falling on the demon's hand, before he raises his mad stare to him, shivering. “It started to hurt again.” He mutters, his voice raw, his tongue heavy and dry. His clothes are clinging on his body, starting to get too big for his bony shoulders. He looks nothing like the fierce warriors that rain down from the skies.

 

Dean frowns and starts to raise a hand to the wing but the angel freezes and slightly moves away. Dean's look darkens but he tries to give him a soothing smile. “Hey, don't worry. I'm not going to do anything.”

 

The angel bites his lips and stares at him for long seconds before he lets Dean's hand land on the curve of his wing, despite the hint of gray worry in his clear irises. Dean's hand slides on the limb and his expression worsens. Something is definitely moving under, wriggling like worms. Dean has a surprised sound when he feels the spell pulsing under his fingers.

“What's happening?” The angel asks, fear piercing in his voice. His sandy hair flies peacefully in the soft wind but all his body is as tense as a bow, his jaw clenched as he looks at the horizon, frowning.

 

“I don't know.” Dean mutters as he catches a glimpse of honey colored feather spotted of black. “I think it was just the first phase of the spell.”

 

The angel's head snaps to him, all wide open doe eyes and freckles all over his skin. “Are you saying it's going to be worse?” He blurts and one of his brother turns in his sleep, frowning. The wounded angel lowers his head, and Dean realizes he is one of the youngest. He does not know if he was truly chosen, or if he was in the patrol by accident, but if he is sure of one thing, is that the spell is lethal and is slowly biting his weak grace.

 

Dean wants to say something, but the words do not come. What can he tell him? That he does now know if he will survive? Or that maybe the spell will eat his wings whole like a gruesome candy and he will be left like this, unable to fight and live? The curse is definitely getting stronger and burns under his touch. He can already imagine the twisted show Amara prepared for these creatures. Maybe their wings will fall suddenly on the ground in a heap of flesh and feather, maybe they will burst out in the night, maybe a whole pond of worms will eat them from the inside, or maybe the spell would just set fire to them and they will be like martyrs running in circles, ache in all their bones.

Dean swallows down and a thin thread of his soul escapes his control, just a small flare escaping the ring of black fire around him. It stays motionless for a moment and suddenly, as if it was drawn by a force to the limb, it flies to it in a wide motion to float vertically above it, like a strange black arrow, the tip barely touching the feathery curve. The angel flinches and looks at Dean, incomprehension painted all across his features.

 

“I'm- I'm sorry I don't know-” Dean starts to mutter, watching several flares escaping one by one to float the same way above the wing, soon turning into a sharp shield of little foggy spikes. They seem to wait for something, for an order, just like horses of war. They barely move, just glimmer under the fading light. For a second, Dean thinks they are ready to merge with Amara's power, blend into a destroying color and turn into a deadly weapon against the angel. But he soon sees he is wrong. His soul is no longer controlled by her, it is flying on its own with no master but him. “I don't understand.” He says in a breath.

 

Pushed by the thrill of danger and curiosity, Dean lets a thin thread dive under the wing. It is hard at first, for it is just a thin arrow of paper piercing through thick layers of curses and whispers, the darkness trying to wrap itself around it. But he pushes it further and it breaks the armor the spell created, find the temple it has to rebuild again, lost somewhere under this sea of oil. It stops its frantic race a breath away from the flesh and with a soft sensation that makes Dean shiver, it melts and flows on the feathers, slowly, a tender mirror of blackness that heals the broken skin.

The angel with honey curls flinches and turns to look at him, blinks, confused. “What did you do-” He starts before his words are stopped by a crack behind him. He freezes completely, Dean with him.

 

The demon opens wide eyes when a fissure appears on the dry spell, snaking on the whole surface. It soon creates a spider web, a red light glowing weak underneath. The angel tries desperately to look behind him, eyes full of fear. The noise woke a few of his brothers that turn around, frowning, giving Dean questioning looks. The demon opens his mouth to explain, but he does not even know what is happening. The faded light turns into a gruesome liquid bubbling out of the cracks. Dean holds his breath and closes his eyes, dreading the consequences of his actions. He gathers his strength and pushes all his soul at once on the wings.

The power bursts out of him and disappears among the feathers. It swirls and dives its claws in the curse, rips long threads of black goo, bites into Amara's venom. It fights and it fights, silver wolf growling, facing the woman's blood red horse and even if it dreads the moment it will jump into the affront and it feels so weak, she is soon gone. A second after, the spell explodes into a cloud of gray powder, freeing the wings.

 

There is a second of silence, before Dean opens his eyes and the young angel gives him an astonished look and beats his wings. He opens his mouth, breathless, when he realizes they did not change, they are still the same, strong and beautiful.

 

Dean raises his eyes and see that Castiel stood up and ran to him, pushing his brothers that gathered together around him like a circle of ice. He kneels in front of him and one of his hand flutters to the demon's face. “Dean, are you alright?” He gives a look around, sees the dark smoke still floating around them, before his eyes land on his brother who beats his golden wings incredulously. He turns back to Dean, frowning. “What happened?” He asks.

 

Dean shakes his head and looks at the young celestial being that mutters incomprehensible words, thanking Dean, his icy eyes diving into his soul as he folds his wings closer to his body, as if he missed them, as if they have been gone.

 

The demon turns to Castiel. “I can help them.” He whispers, astonished. He turns around, looks at the sea of angels that stares at him, mouth open, hope shining bright in their irises as they get closer, all their fear fading away under the bright taste of promised freedom.

Dean stands up suddenly, helping Castiel doing the same. The angel of gold gets up and his soul gives Dean a whiskey colored blow, followed by a gentle smile that feels too soft for this face made for smiting towns and ripping skies. Dean turns to Castiel with a thin smile. “I have work to do.” He says as his dark soul pulses and pulses, stronger than ever.

 

**X**

 

Dean opens his eyes and blinks. The bedroom comes softly into focus and he starts to feel the warm sheets surrounding his body, as well with the soreness of his own limbs. He glances at the window and is surprised by how raw the light is outside, raining down on him through the wooden shutters. It is the first time he does not wake up with the sun. It is already there, shining on the room, turning dust into specks of gold.

 

Dean passes a hand on his tired face and rolls on the bed. Castiel is not by his side, probably already helping the others. He sighs and gets up, wincing at the heat filling his aching muscles. He spent all the evening and a part of the night healing the angels, breaking the dome of darkness with his own. At first, it was hard to focus and gather his energy in one ball of light, but he soon learned the move and it was just a matter of seconds to free the caged wings. But as easy as it may have seemed, diving through the same cruel spell again and again pumped all his strength away like a thirsty animal. There were only a few angels left when he nearly collapsed on the ground, nose and ears bleeding.

He winces once again when he stands on his feet, standing still for a few seconds as the world turns around him, blurry and cold. Then, he opens the door and walks slowly outside. The sun is too bright for his bloodshot eyes and his tongue feels heavy and black, as if he was living the worst hangover he could experiment. He puts a hand above them and looks around, hating the dizziness filling his lungs. He spots Castiel in the middle of the field, talking with other angels, their bright wings wide open behind them, enjoying the sun sliding on them.

 

As soon as he approaches, Castiel raises his head, the familiar green tormented aura fizzing at the edges of his mind. When he sees him, he gives him a wide smile and walks to him. Dean grins back but his breath is taken away when the angel throws himself against him like a wave against the shore. Castiel's arms are wrapped tight around his waist and he hides his face in Dean's neck, breathing hot on his skin. Despite his sore body and his surprise, the demon does the same and passes his arms around the angel's shoulders, closing his eyes under the sudden embrace. He tries to absorb everything, the colored flares from Castiel's soul, the warmth of his skin, the way his heart beats against his chest, the familiar scent of pines and honey, the taste it leaves on his tongue.

“And what's that for?” Dean mutters against Cas' neck, a smile spreading on his lips.

 

“Nothing.” The angel answers as he holds him closer against him, his arms tightening around his waist. When Dean opens his eyes, he sees the blue grace shaping into wings behind Castiel, some pale ghosts, some faded memories he tries to remember. “I just don't know what I would do if you were not here.” He adds in a whisper, his words tainted of fear and pain, too many emotions for one peaceful morning.

 

Dean has a little laugh that gets stuck in his throat as he pulls away slowly. He does not answer but puts a loud kiss on Castiel's mouth. He then moves back with a smile. “I have to finish what I started.” He says with a look to the angels behind Cas. He starts walking to them and the ones that are already healed greet him with joyful beats of their wings. The others give him hopeful, impatient looks as he enters the circle of grace, feeling like a messiah sent from a darker world, a strange prophet covered in dry blood.

 

There are only ten left of the cursed ones but with the remains of sleep and ache, it is harder than expected to focus on his task. He suddenly doubts he will be able to do it again, but when his soul is drawn once again to the angels' bodies, he sighs of relief. Unusual feeling, to do the good.

A small hour after, he is finally done. The wind blew the ashes of the spell away and the angels that had to spent another night in unease and suffering are now free. The creatures hold each other in their arms with crystal clear laughter, as they beat their wings under the sun, feeling again the breeze, the voices, the Creation sliding on them. Lazarus is running among them, barking in an almost joyful way.

 

Dean has a tired smile and just like the night before, he feels a thick liquid flowing from his nose. He raises his hand and wipes it away, bright red blood staining his skin. The world starts to spin around him, like a broken record and the sounds get slower, the colors duller. He has a nervous smile and stumbles back, feeling his mind go dizzy again. Castiel barely has the time to catch him in his arms before he falls on the ground.

“My knight in shinin' armor!” Dean jokes and Castiel gives him a dark glare, carrying him to the house. Once inside, Dean sits at the table and lets the angel take care of him. The nosebleed is over but he still winces of pain and unease. But after a brutal cup of black coffee, there is just an odd little feeling moving in his stomach, nothing more.

 

In front of him, Castiel moves on his seat, eyes lost in thought. Finally, he opens his mouth, his blue irises diving into Dean's soul. “Do you think we'll be enough?” He asks carefully.

 

Dean stares at him for a long second that feels eternal, as he clenches his jaw, unsure. “We have to.” He says, his words softening a little after, watching Castiel's sad eyes swirl with doubt. “I mean, we all know how to fight, and we have a whole freakin' army of angels with us!”

 

“I know.” Castiel answers softly. “It's just… I think we will never know the limits of her power.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean answers as he gets up to look by the window. The field is calm, like a bright clear plain. He sees his brother and Eileen walking among the angels, holding hands, colorful auras like clouds around them as they laugh in the morning. “But we have to believe we'll be stronger than her.” He adds.

 

_Blown away, destroyed, broken, wide sea of black and blood, energy running electric neon veins screams and smiles. Cruel eyes and GUNSHOT. Blinding white aching eyes stolen breath heart sinking ribs itching. Angels angels angels shouting angel by his side, his name again and again whispered like a spell, his mind runs wild and freezes cold so cold he cannot believe it._

 

Amara appearing with a lightning, bringing the End with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm leaving you with this tiny baby and I'm going to start writing the finale! Thanks to anyone who reached that point!


	20. Paint It, Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title + Inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mz77LWHXzM8

_Lighting strikes, touches the ground, the roots of the Earth tremble and weep, the soil is covered of blood and fire and the ice flows like a white lake, gods spilling milk, something growls and kicks and tries to breathe, no it is the spirit of nature suffering the ache is here now on its skin and there are hands crushing its bones and there are fingertips running on its spine and it burns but they linger and it shakes and begs for mercy, please no this is a world of wonder you cannot destroy it, it is the Creation at your feet, please feel mercy please do not land your empty eyes on us, this is the work of the divine and you are the Chaos blowing on the desert, do not steal this life from us for this is the only one we have, no chase this loathing away from your heart it pumps so black and you hurt the ground that made you when you crawled away from the burning heart of this world, remember, remember..._

 

Amara shakes her head, her features twitching of annoyance. The world is sparkling around her, too bright, too beautiful, shining painfully in her dark irises. It feels surreal, like a strange dream she is walking through and it hurts every piece of her blackness. It feels like stained glass in her veins, mesmerizing but dangerous, it feels superficial and it is inviting her in warm arms.

But she refuses the embrace, she hates it more than anything. It is too soft, like honey flowing in her mouth, suffocating her with hypocritical words as she tries to fight back, to keep her head out of this sticky sea of gold. It is so hot on her body, wrapping itself around her shoulders, her waist, like a drunken love who does not want to let go, not now, maybe never but definitely not tonight. It makes her sick, this world that shapes into a silhouette made of suns. It tries to reach out to her, holding out a hand, interlacing their fingers together, trying to make her join the flow of brainless sheep that is humanity.

She feels her stomach moving and she steps away from this impostor, this divinity in disguise that keeps reminding her she has a debt. This soil made her, she pushed through dirt and dry leaves to catch a glimpse of heavenly summer sky, silver soft breeze, land of wonder. She suffocated among its guts, its bloody roots and finally she took a breath and the pure oxygen of the times filled her whole like biblical alcohol in a glass.

 

She rose and walked in this world and stared at it for hours, in pure awe. It was wide, and it was bright, and everyday she thought it could not surprise her anymore. And everytime she woke up, she realized she was wrong.

No matter where she went, there was always more to see, more to feel. She could walk among the deepest forest, the thickest crowd, the purest ocean, and everytime she felt the same astonishment. It was a work of art, a masterpiece that was made in sweat and frustration, and she could feel the centuries rushing through her when her fingers touched the ground, the trees, the sea. She fell asleep each night thinking there could not be better world, that it would be madness to think of something more beautiful, more incredible than this one. She fell asleep under the stars, curled under the soft leaves of a weeping willow, caressing her face, singing in the wind. She would watch the stars shine, pale and distant on the dark blue sky, and she would fall into slumber with a smile painted on her lips.

Life went like this for a while, long, peaceful, without a worry to darken her days. She would visit this world, trying to remember every detail, every flower blooming, every animal breathing. She tried to absorb every sensation flowing through her, the same curve of her mouth illuminating her face. The loneliness of her steps was never bothering her, she was appreciating what was given to her in the most perfect silence, tasting the melody of the wind on her tongue, eyelids closed. But it could not stay like this. Where there is light, there is darkness, and she soon discovered she was here to maintain this rule.

 

She was walking in a wide plain of tall grass, surrounded by sharp mountains covered of wild flowers when a small silhouette on the horizon caught her attention. She stopped her steps in the middle of the trail and narrowed her eyes, curious. The creature was like her, with the same limbs and appearance, but as Amara walked closer to it, she realized it was their only resemblance. Its skin was rough and hurt by the hard sun, its hair was dry and falling in poor curls behind it, a thin veil of sweat was covering its forehead. There was a weakness around it, something dull and faded that was far away from the black flares Amara saw around her own body.

She frowned and walked to the creature, that was a woman like her and was washing rough clothes in the river. Behind her, Amara saw a few habitations, smoke rising above them, a spicy, odd scent stinging her eyes. She approached and her shadow weighed down on the woman whose head snapped to her, terrified irises looking at the stranger, before they suddenly softened and realized it was just another soul like her.

 

When the woman gave her a smile, Amara blinked and her heart stopped. She never saw anything like that. She saw the sun rise and fall, the waves crash against the shores, the fire and the wind fighting against each other, but nothing could be compared to that sudden light spreading across the woman's features. There was a so genuine kindness in that smile that Amara's soul froze for a whole minute.

The woman invited her inside and for the first time, Amara saw what was a home. As she sat among the furs and the leather and looked around, she realized she never had one. That despite her chest as light as the stars and her love for the nights under them, there was something more about this little space. Some kind of warmth, some kind of spirit floating inside that made her feel at ease. The woman did not have much and the cold wind was passing through the thin walls, but when she put a cup of steaming tea in Amara's hand, always with the same blinding smile, she realized that was not important. That the small things she owned were enough to make her live peacefully, despite the tiredness in her features.

Amara stayed all day long by her side, and even if they were not speaking the same language, smiles and small signs of the head were enough. At the end of the day, Amara was feeling exhausted after working hard by the woman's side, but her chest was filled with a new sensation, as if this day triggered something in her, something buried deep that was giving her a reason to be on this Earth. When the night fell, a man and a child came into the house and the woman held them tight in her arms in a way that made light bloom inside Amara.

She stayed a long time with them, and they accepted her as their own family. She would work and she would help them the best she could. When she realized they did not have the same abilities as her, she could not help but feel a string of fear moving in her heart. What could these brave people think, seeing the black cloud moving inside her since the day she was born? She did not want to scare them and as the years passed, she hid her powers, protecting herself and them at the same time, only using them to make their life easier when she could.

 

It was a day like another when Amara noticed the white strands in the woman's hair, the soft wrinkles on the man's face, the brighter look in the boy's eyes. She did not see the time flowing, but they did and they would often question her in the language they created. How could she travel through the years in the same pure youth? She wanted to be honest with them, but she did not knew the reason of this mystery. She would think about it a lot, spending nights with her eyes wide open, wondering why she was not feeling these raw feelings called hunger, sorrow or joy.

All she was feeling was some kind of numb, empty emotion getting brighter or duller depending on the days. It was more of a soapy lake inside her, barely moved by the wind. Sometimes, she was trying to force this water to wake, but it never worked. All her feelings were faded, distant lights in the depths of her chest. She wished she could feel like humans did, like her family and the ones living around them did. But she soon regretted her wish when the young boy happened to hurt himself during a hunt.

 

He and his father went in the mountains to bring some meat to celebrate the first snow. But as the boy was trying to climb and avoid the sharp, narrow edges, his foot did not land on the rocks, but on terrible void and he fell and fell, his fragile body crashing on the ground at his father's feet. When the man burst out into the house, tears running down his face, Amara knew that something was about to change.

The mother laid her child on the table and watched over him for days and nights, making him sip strong decoctions through his blue lips. He was getting colder and paler, his limbs just like bones covered by thin skin. There was no more hope for him and she had to watch him fade slowly until his last breath.

 

Amara could not bear the suffering floating above them like a ghost anymore. These people accepted her as their own, they took care of her, they gave her what she was craving silently all these years and she could not let pain and sorrow take them away, even if these emotions were so odd and unknown to her. She thought she was feeling them now, but she was wrong.

One night, when the parents were asleep, ravaged by the flames of ache, she walked to the bed where the boy was now sleeping, shivering violently. She kneeled by her side and observed him for a moment. Despite the cold sweat rolling in pearls on his face, and the evil fever shaking him, he was strangely peaceful, his eyelashes barely fluttering on his cheeks. Amara sighed and gathered her power inside her into a black ball of electricity. She reached out to the boy and took his hand in her own, making the energy flow from her veins to his heart.

 

At first, nothing wrong happened. His veins turned to black, glowing slightly under the translucent skin, and he started to breathe better, some colors spreading again on his face. Amara dared to smile when she saw him open his eyes. The child smiled back at her and the fever was nearly gone when he pressed her fingers in his. Amara was about to call the parents when the dark wind flowing around her suddenly stopped, frowned, stared, darkened, growled, attacked.

The boy's smile froze before it faded and suddenly, black, thick blood was flowing out of his blue mouth, again and again like an endless river. Amara removed her hand hastily but it was too late, the power was bursting out of her, glad it was now free, jumping, dancing, singing in the room with dark sparks of electricity, illuminating the room in a flames-colored Chaos.

 

She tried to take it back but it was too strong, too wild, like an animal that could never be tamed. Her veins turned into a glowing red and as the boy was suffering and walking through Hell, she felt something new, something so powerful it made her stop everything. It was fresh and beautiful, something strong running like silver and gold interlaced inside her. Suddenly, she felt like a queen, a goddess, something beyond this world, beyond everything she could have imagined. A wave, no, an ocean rising and crashing inside her, and she could destroy and bring suffering and fear to the weak ones, and she could kill with the blink of her evil eyes. She closed them and looked at the energy rushing through her, beautiful, cruel and blood red, a snake that wrapped itself around her wrists, and suddenly she saw it was the only company she ever needed.

She was taking a deep breath, inhaling the power when a scream pierced her bubble of bliss. Her eyes snapped open and she turned around to see the mother's distorted features as she fell on the ground, holding her face in her shaking hands. The man stood up and he stared at the scene without blinking, speechless, incapable of saying a word. His eyes travelled from his motionless child staring at him with faded white eyes and blood still dripping from his lips, to the woman standing next to his bed, her fingers still trying to reach out to the frail body already turning cold.

 

Amara opened her mouth and tried to explain but before she could say something, she was already running in the plain, the man after her, threatening her of all the words a wounded heart can spit. She ran for miles, and she only stopped long after he collapsed on the road behind her, curling into a ball of sorrow and terrible suffering, surrounded by dark pines. Amara's heart shattered when she saw his haunted eyes staring at her, but the worst of all was still the expression on the mother's face, the confusion, the betrayal, the anger, the ache all mixed together in an awful color.

 

Amara sat among the trees and some blue feeling wanted to escape her body, but she could not throw it away, like a snake prisoner of its old skin. After centuries of loneliness, she finally had found what she wanted so dearly, and in the blink of an eye, it was gone, vanished, just like powder in the air. She wanted to grieve with them and yet something was keeping her from doing so.

The pleasure she felt when the child's life flew out of him and ran through her veins instead. The way her soul swirled like a beautiful, silky ribbon of darkness around her, brushing against her skin in the softest way. She tried to chase the feeling away, but nothing could fight the power she felt inside her. She now realizes she could never have lived like this, that they were too weak for her, and that kindness was useless. She needed strong companions to walk this Earth, not pale and frail creatures, crawling behind her. She clenched her jaw and her eyes darkened.

 

She walked for a long time, stopping from time to time in small towns, watching the humanity swell in front of her as she crossed oceans and seas. One day, when she was sitting in the dark woods, she heard the silent tears of a sighing soul. When she searched for the source of all these lamentations, she found a man sitting on the soil of the forest, his soul pulsing gray and black. He raised his head to look at her when she approached and she saw how powerful his aura was, snapping around him like dark flares. She sat by his side and she felt his deep loneliness, the screams in his heart, the way he desperately wanted to share his monotonous life with someone, lost in this empty land.

 

He said he was the first son of humanity, he said he had a brother, he said he was the only thing keeping him from jumping from that cliff, the one perched above the ocean. He said he was alone and he said he could not bear it anymore.

She said she was the first daughter of this world, the cursed offspring the earth spat out of its guts. She said she was an orphan soul, she said she crawled from the earth with her own hands, that there was nothing to care for her, except herself. She said she travelled a lot, she said she saw many people, but the company was never worth the effort.

He said everything would be better than the thought of an empty existence. He had a weak smile and said he would come back. And he did, days after days, sitting at the same place under the same ring of sun. Her heart was filled with something new, the terrible hungry machine, and sometimes the way he looked at her made shivers run down her spine. He once kissed her under the full moon and he said he would come back. And he did. Months after, only to tell her the humanity had found his land and he had found the one to share his life.

 

Her soul crumbled at her feet and she said this world was the darkest. Then, her eyes turned as cold as ice and she said that this world was cruel, but she was worse. She cursed the man and the ones after him, the ones with the impure blood.

The wretched line flew through the years and she was feeling more powerful everytime the innocent blood was spilled on the paved streets. These children were her creation, her own personal monsters and they were as beautiful as they were lethal. The man who left her alone was consumed by the power she inflicted him and one night, it was too much to bear, and he found a blade. And the blade found his brother's chest, and finally his precious lover's heart. When he realized what he had done, he screamed for hours and the pain in his voice made Amara smile all night, until his very last breath, when he jumped off that cliff, the one perched above the ocean.

The line was bright, golden and these children were as lovable as the others. They had luminous eyes and soft strands of hair. They had joyful laughs and colorful smiles. But they grew up and the beating of their own hearts became too loud, the blood flowing in their temples as they would roll in bed, slamming their palms on their ears to make the whispers stop. And finally one day, they would snap and they would shout from their windows before they would run the city, ripping flesh and bone apart until the morning where they would stop, breathless, satisfied, powerful. The Hunters began to appear after that, chasing them to the edge of the night.

 

Amara was a queen above them, and she shivered everytime she heard a scream of agony. She was above this humanity that only felt disgust and hatred towards her. They chose to treat her like a monster, so she unleashed her creatures on them. She knew she would never find peace and for she had the eternity in front of her, she decided she must make this dirty earth pay for its sins.

But her crimes, and the despair she threw on this world, could not be tolerated. One day she was walking among blood and bubbling guts, when a blinding white light illuminated the skies and _they_ rained down from the blue vastness. She raised her head and silver fell on her, burning her skin. Something from another dimension blew over her and suddenly, she fell on her knees, her wrists and ankles tied by gold threads covered of thorns, diving in her skin. She screamed and begged, but the celestial creatures did not listen and they land their dead cold eyes on her without blinking. They beat their ten thousand wings and they were gone. They threw her in a cage, lost deep in the universe, here in a rotting cell, for her, the goddess, the force beyond control and comprehension.

 

She blinks and the memories all fade away in one motion. Her story could have ended this way, but it did not, for she is the strongest being in this world. And now she is ready to make the one who did this to her, suffer. She smiles and she feels like the circle of life is going back to its beginning. She is ready to destroy this Universe just to feel alive.

 

**X**

 

Dean's body freezes. His soul does the same, small block of ice inside him. There is a thumping behind his ribs, he thinks it is his heart, throbbing, pounding so loud in his ears. His blood is a glacial liquid flowing fast in his veins, itching, fizzing and it reminds him of that one time where he went to the ocean with his brother, the way the cold waves were lapping onto the shore, how it was forming circles around him, and he felt more alive than ever. It felt like the water was trying to be a part of him and despite the shivers covering his limbs, he stood there, feet in the sand, soaked clothes clinging on him, the ocean for as far as the eye can see.

He was mesmerized by this vision, by how incredible and cruel the water was. He knew there were waves that could swallow him whole in one hungry mouthful, he knew the floor could crumble under him as he walked deeper into the blue immensity. He knew the creatures living in the water, but everytime, he was shaking his fear away and only kept the fascination the cold, brutal emotion was giving him.

 

But now, the memory is swallowed in dark waters and he feels sick, he feels like they fill his throat and they suffocate him with silver hands. There is a muffled sound in his lungs and he shakes his head, vision getting blurry. No, it is impossible, he is dreaming. It is another nightmare and he will wake up in his sheets covered of sweat, his angel giving him a worried look. He will get up and live, and celestial creatures will cover the field. He blinks and tries to breathe but the air gets stuck inside him. He steps back from the window, stumbling, still shaking his head of denial.

“ _But we have to believe we'll be stronger than her”_ he said. These words full of hope and strength, they escaped his mind to roll on his tongue. What was he thinking in that moment? Did he even believe them? Because right now, they feel empty, tasteless, wicked. They are like the song that hypnotized Amara and drawn her to them, in some twisted little game.

It cannot be true, no he will wake up, this is a dream, it is his mind playing tricks to him, it is making him saying things, things he does not want to see. No, she is not here, she is not about to destroy everything he loves. Because there is no other way. Either he surrenders and kisses the ground at her feet, or he fights, and all his mind is shouting he will loose everything in this battle.

 

He crawls away from the light and he realizes it is slowly falling, Amara covering the town with dark velvet. The sky turns into a beautiful chaos, mixture of different shades of blue, with purple, orange, pink ashes thrown on the canvas. It is a beautiful sunset, and pale stars shine above the field. It would be a wonderful evening, if only they could sit outside under the pines, hands framing hot cups of coffee, hair disheveled by the wind. But this is a luxury he cannot afford. He cannot pay for peace, for the price has to be paid in blood and broken bones.

He walks back, dives back into the shadow when suddenly there are two bright blue eyes staring at him, a frown darkening them, distorting the soft features. There are hands framing his face like fresh gold and Dean blinks, puzzled, chasing the tears away. Castiel looks at him, worry painted all across his soul that pulses dull and nervous.

“Dean, what's wrong?” His eyes search Dean's and he drowns in the green fields of despair. “What's going on?”

 

Dean swallows down, his mouth dry, his tongue thick and covered of cursed words. For one moment, he thinks he lost his ability to speak, or even to move, if not to breathe. That he suddenly turned into an automaton, a machine without a heart. “She's here.” He finally murmurs, his blood getting even colder, his warmth violently blown away, only leaving an empty glacial desert bottled up in a thin shell of flesh.

 

“Who's here?” Castiel asks, frowning, looking at Dean as if he was about to break.

 

“Amara.” Dean croaks, glancing behind the angel to see the window, knowing what is waiting outside for him.

 

It is Castiel's turn to be hit by an icy gust. He stops breathing and his face goes blank, as Dean watches the fear slowly replacing the confusion. Carefully, the frown goes away to leave a sick spark in his eyes, and he blinks a few times, memories flashing behind his wounded grace.

 

A part of Dean, the coward inside him with tears and shivers, want to run away as far as he can, his feet swallowing miles of black thick road until they are just gaping wounds, until his lungs are ablaze behind his ribs. He wants to hide in the deepest, darkest forest, or at the bottom of the coldest ocean so she could never find him again and he could live safe for the rest of his days.

A violent storm pushes his mind and he remembers ripping flesh and bones apart, biting into lungs and hearts and wrists, watching the life go black in his victim's eyes. He remembers the neon lights illuminating the scene, the screams, the blood flowing in the soapy water, the strangled sounds coming from torn apart throats, his hot hands around them. He remembers the shivers running down his spine, swirling around it, interlacing like gold and vine. He remembers the thrill he felt everytime he was about to take a life, feel it beat in his hands. He shakes his head but the visions get even brighter. Corpses, corpses everywhere, staring at him while he would laugh under the night, covered by Amara's little satisfied smile.

He represses a painful sob and blinks to put the angel back into focus, his eyes like an old, dusty camera. Castiel lowered his head and stares into space. Dean sees his soul having small spasms as he drowns in the thickest night.

 

“What are we gonna do?” Dean mutters, his jaw and fists clenched.

 

The angel shakes his head. “What we have to do.” He raises his eyes back to look at him. His previous fear seems to be gone and his stare is as strong as a thousands storms.“Fight.”

 

Dean's heart crawls a little deeper inside him. “We're not ready.” He whispers in a breath, glancing nervously at the window, fearing that Amara will appear in the room in a deafening thunderclap.

 

“I know.” Castiel answers softly and suddenly the weight of the centuries he lived falls on his shoulders. He looks tired, exhausted even, like a fading star that just wants to shine in silence and peace in the depths of space. “But there's no other way.”

 

A violent blow of electricity makes Dean grits his teeth and his eyes darken. “Maybe I should just go back with her.” He looks at Castiel, his face like a cold mask of resignation. “I don't want you or Sam to get hurt! I don't want all these angels to die when I could have saved them.”

 

Castiel makes a step closer and Dean sees his soul moving dangerously behind him, brighter than ever since he lost his wings. Something gets stuck in Dean's throat as he remembers what Castiel sacrificed for him, _because_ of him. He feels so selfish and wrong for fearing the battle, when Castiel is nearly human, incapable of flying away if anything goes wrong, a weak flickering grace as his only weapon. And the worst of all will be the vision of this evil woman, the one that ripped his wings in one wide motion when it felt like she was pulling feather after feather, burning them with her black fingertips.

“You know I won't let you.” The angel murmurs.

 

“Yeah I know.” Dean says as he makes a step closer and puts his head on Cas' shoulder, burying his face in his neck. “I'm scared, Cas.” He suddenly whispers in a strangled whisper, as if it was a shame, something he should not have said. As if he was only the fearless warrior that did not feel anything.

 

Castiel gives him a surprised look, his heart starting to beat a little louder in his chest. He wraps his arms around Dean's shoulders and sighs deeply. His bones are heavy, his lungs as thin as butterfly wings, his heart is a heavy weight in his chest, and he has to carry it for both him and the demon that is just tired to exist.

“I won't let her hurt you.” Castiel says, and there is a sudden anger beating in his voice. He is tired and dried up like a river, but his emotions are still somewhere inside him, ready to explode and blow away everything that is around him. His grace trembles inside him and he grits his teeth. His brothers locked her up centuries ago, but he is planning far worse for her now. He is going to make her pay for what she has done. For making Dean become something he is not, something he does not want to be. For hurting Aniel to the point there was only a heap of bleeding grace and feathers at his feet. For killing hundreds of angels. For destroying Sam's life, taking his family and future away, taking his own free will from him.

 

Dean circles his waist with his arms and cries quietly against his shirt, just small bitter dry sobs that shake his whole body. He grips the rough fabric and shuts his eyes tight, wanting to make the whole world disappear behind his eyelids, fall back into memories made of scented pines and honey suns and golden times. He wants his soul to burst out of him and claws Amara's heart until it is a gruesome pond of red threads and darkness. He wants to bite in it and spits on her cold body as she would melt back into dirt and grass.

 

“Maybe we could go and she would follow us,” Castiel starts, carefully. “And she would spare Sam and the others.”

 

“We don't know that.” Dean answers weakly. “She could just kill them all and then come after us. You know I wouldn't forgive myself after that.”

 

Castiel bites his lip. Each second he spends inside makes him more nervous, he shakes on his feet. He is afraid Amara could have already done something. He already lived this with Aniel, he just cannot go through this again and see hundreds of bloody backs, dripping grace, wings thrown on the cold ground. His soul is jumping outside before him, dreading the goddess could have already break some limbs just for the pleasure. But it only meets scared and angry auras, gathered close together in the middle of the field and when the edges of the blue veil hits a mountain made of shadows, standing still, facing them, he shivers and takes it back.

Dean curls up closer against the angel's chest and takes a deep breath of celestial light. He feels even worse knowing his brother is outside, facing this force of nature, when he is hiding inside, fear gnawing at his bones like a starving dog. He is about to murmur something when a voice coming from the back of his skull cuts him off.

 

First it is his name, whispered in a dirty mouth, rolling on a tongue covered of acid and poison. It is repeated again and again, and he flinches, moves his head a little to look around under Castiel's worried look.

“What is it?” The angel asks but is voice is drowned in transparent shadows. Something fell like a veil on Dean's eyes and the demon shivers as the whispers get stronger around him, _inside_ him.

 

 _I know you're there. I can feel you inside that house. You can't hide from me, I can smell your fear from miles. You know you don't have the freedom of choice, Dean. So walk away from that creature that pretends it loves you and come to me instead. You never felt so alive, you cannot deny it. Do you remember that feeling flowing through_ _your veins, that power when you_ _took a life? It will never leave you, Dean. You can't pretend you're on the good side, but truth is, you're just like me. You need that energy to survive, and your hunger will only be satisfied when this Earth will be bathed in blood and tears. You're too strong to hide, Dean. Come and leave this home that will never be yours. You don't belong here, something as powerful as you will never belong. I'll not wait forever, Dean. Maybe I could take your brother with me as a lesson?_

 

“NO!” Dean shouts and he nearly jumps to the window, before Castiel catches him, holds him tight against him, lonely ship against that whole evil storm.

 

“Dean, wait! What are you doing?” He asks, completely lost at sea.

 

“She wants to hurt Sam! I have to go!” Dean answers, trembling like a dry leaf. He dives his distraught eyes in Cas' soul. “I can't let her do that!”

 

The angel looks at him for a moment, a lump on his throat. There is no way anything ends well. He will either die under Amara's spells, or watch the man he loves fall back into madness and run away with her. He sighs deeply and his eyes are incredibly sad.

 

“Alright.” He whispers in a husky voice. “Alright.” He repeats, slowly stepping back, his words getting stuck in his throat.

 

Dean gives him a desperate look before he walks behind a cupboard and takes his blade from behind the wooden furniture. The knife shakes a little in his palm and an odd feeling flows through his veins. He closes his eyes for a second and clenches his jaw, and he loathes the fear taking his brain in its claws.

He turns to the window, slowly, just like a machine going to war. He starts walking carefully, as if his steps could create thunder under the Earth and swallow him whole. He opens it and the fresh wind hits him with merciless gusts. The smell of destruction and gray smokes fills his lungs and he aches a little. He goes down the small stairs and he finally touches the soft soil, the nature asleep and sore around him. He takes a deep breath and he sees the angels moving in front of him, like a wonderful sea of silver and grace. He sees his brother staring at him with wide open eyes, Eileen and Charlie by his side, Aniel looking at Amara with eyes that could kill, wings wide open behind him.

 

He feels a soft touch on his palm and he turns to see Castiel laced their fingers together like ribbons. The angel stares at Amara with a pure, devastating rage pulsing around him and he grits his teeth, his grace singing behind him.

Dean takes another deep breath and he starts walking to his fate. Castiel's silver blade appears in his hand and a celestial growl rises in his soul. His eyes are darker than the night and the sky turns blood-red above them. There is a smell of burning and rotting flesh in the air. Dean's features twitch and he feels his stomach having a jolt. His lungs feel too small but he is cold as ice when he looks at Amara, who gives him the cruelest smile.

He starts walking slowly to her, step after step, breathing deeply everytime his feet touch the ground, melt in this soil. He tries to gather his strength, shape it into a ball of light inside him. His soul is crackling around him, throwing glowing sparks around, pulsing, swirling like an angry sea. It is tainted of the deepest shade of red he can imagine, golden and orange embers shining in the center, ashes falling silently on his head, covering his hair of chaos. Lazarus is walking next to him, smoke moving in circles under his paws as if he was walking on water. A blink of the eye and he is suddenly taller, muscular and growling, white fangs showing.

 

Castiel grits his teeth and feels the power bubbling behind them. He narrows his eyes and the air gets colder around him. There is a whole winter starting to form crystals on his eyelashes, small pieces of ice dancing in front of his eyes. Something flows glacial inside him and the rage is boiling, snow and stone. It swells dangerously inside him, behind his ribs, going back and forth between his body and the field, snapping furiously as creatures made of grace and electricity growl, ready to jump on Amara and tear her to shreds.

It is nearly scaring him, this energy running through his veins like horses of war, but at the same time there is something holding them back, a weakness that makes his movements painful, his back creaking like old wood and there is always that wound that itches and makes him nauseous. He remembers when he was standing on Heaven's battlefields, his wings proudly spread behind him like great flags. But now he is fragile, and even if he is still not human, he feels like one, and even the silver burns a little in his hand. He looks at Amara and even if he pushes the dark thoughts away, he sees his End in her.

 

Dean arrives to the group that gathered next to the house, and gives a look around. Sam walks next to him and the demon can see the worry growing in his clear eyes.

“We're not ready.” Sam says, glancing nervously at Amara, as if she could walk to him and catch him in her hands before he can even realize.

 

“I know,” Dean answers and he dives his eyes into Sam's. There is a burning anger moving in his soul and Dean sees that his brother is holding a small knife, where strange symbols are carved. “But we don't have a choice.” He adds.

 

“We need a plan.” Ezekiel says, suddenly appearing in front of him. His brown and white wings are tense and he holds them half spread, as if he was ready to fly at Dean's order. He gives the goddess a little look and clenches his jaw. “We cannot attack without a strategy.”

 

“We don't have time.” Aniel snaps next to his brother. His feathers are standing on an end, as if electricity was caressing them with cold hands. He turns to Dean. “What are we gonna do?”

 

The demon shakes his head. “I don't know. I didn't think she'd come back now!”

 

The angel frowns and the circle of his brethren gets closer. The youngest are in the center, looking at Amara with nervous eyes tainted of fear and uncertainty. They stand next to their brothers and sisters, shoulders next to shoulders, feathers tangled together. None of them wants to fight, and none of them wants to die on that field. Most of them already saw the others fall under awful torture or suffer all night with wings stuck in darkness, and despite their graces held high and their bright eyes, the stench of fear is all around them.

 

Aniel moves suddenly and passes a hand in his thick blonde hair, kicking the ground at his feet. His wings have an angry beat. Ezekiel's eyes follow him for a moment before he turns back to Dean. “No matter what you choose to do, we will be with you.” He says and the other angels nod around him.

 

Dean is about to answer something but a voice he knows too well resonates around them, in the empty space, spreading to the stars, covering them of blackness.

“I hope you know fighting is useless.” Amara says calmly and the demon raises his eyes to look at her. She is wearing simple black clothes, and her leather jacket is slightly tainted of dark red. Her long hair falls around her sharp features and when she crosses Dean's stare, she has a little smile. “Hello, Dean.” She adds, almost tenderly.

 

His whole body freezes and next to him Castiel clenches his fists as he glares at Amara, gripping his blade tighter. Dean takes a deep, shaking breath before he makes a step to her, the army gathering behind him, souls bubbling furiously with hundreds of different colors, electricity running on sore wings.

 

Dean stares at Amara for a long minute, trying to pierce her cold mask of ice to find her flaws, her weaknesses, to find where he has to hit to destroy her. His blade trembles in his hand, craving to dive in evil flesh and empty a monstrous body.

“You know I won't come with you.” He growls, the fever rising to his temples, the heat spreading on his back like wings of fire. He shakes his head. “Never again.”

 

“I knew you would say that.” She answers with the same honey voice. She tilts her head slightly on one side, diving her dark eyes in his with a slight frown. “Do you really think you have a choice?” She asks

 

Dean's eyes darken. “I always have.” He mutters behind his teeth.

 

Amara has a little laugh, but it is not mocking, rather as if she was sorry for him, as if a force stronger than her was pushing her to do the evil and it was not, in any way, her fault. “I thought only humans were so naive.” She has an amused curve of her lips. “I thought better of you, Dean.”

 

“Well, guess you were wrong.” He snaps, his shoulders shaking, barely containing the anger boiling inside him, drawing him to this cursed woman to slice her throat in one pure motion.

 

“You'll pay for your crimes!” A voice suddenly shouts behind him and he turns to see a tall angel with a milky coffee colored skin. His short curls cover his head of dark brown and his wings are the same soft beige, sprinkled of white like small dots of sugar. Despite his innocent appearance, his aura snaps around him like furious solar flames and he beats his wings, clenching his jaw, blade in hand. “You'll pay for what you've done to us!”

 

Amara raises an eyebrow, a vague amusement floating on her face. “Really? And how do you think you'll do that?” She asks, contempt spiting at his feet. Her eyes have a malicious shine and she seems to realize something, widening her eyes dramatically. “Oh, you think you can fight me with your little army?” She has another laugh, cruel and cold this one, making Dean shiver. “Please, I already took care of your little patrol! Do you think this will make a difference?”

 

“I think you're overestimating yourself.” Dean snaps and Amara laughs again.

 

“That's where you wrong. I know my power, Dean.” Her smiles freezes and turns into something way more frightening, a cruel smirk a child has when a bird fell of the nest. She lowers her chin to stare at him. “I know I can destroy you all.”

 

Dean shivers and his answer is strangled in his lungs. Castiel makes a step and his grace glows of an icy blue in the dull light. “You may have defeated a patrol, but you can't beat Heaven's army.” He says, and Dean turns slightly to him, blinking confusedly at Castiel's tone, cold and hard as marble. It is the angel speaking, the celestial being that lived through whole centuries.

 

Amara's eyes leave Dean to fall on the angel, annoyance twitching her features. She stares at him for a moment and there are waves moving in her irises, black vipers wriggling behind her pupils. Suddenly, she seems to get out of her odd stupor. She blinks and her look hardens even more as she makes a step to the angel.

 

“Are you sure of that?” She asks and Castiel's body stiffens, controlling his wrath. She has a cruel, burning smirk that leaves painful fingerprints on Cas' throat. She makes another step closer and Dean moves a little to stand between them, a growl rising in his lungs. She gives him a disappointed look before she turns her attention back to Castiel. “If I remember well, the last time we met, you lost everything because of your pride and your… disgusting feelings.” Her eyes dive in his grace. “What are you exactly now? An angel? A human? Nothing at all?”

 

“You think I'm weak?” Castiel asks, and it sounds more like something he is certain of. His soul has an angry blow. “I'm not my brothers. If I don't defeat you, they will.” He says behind his clenched teeth.

 

Amara has the same little laugh, and she is like a scary doll, living with the same record spinning in her head. She sees people as pawns, she sees them as useful or not, as a threat or not. And her ego refuses to accept the power that is hundreds of angels illuminated by rage.

 

Dean still feels dizzy after healing the rest of the celestial beings and he bites his tongue to focus on her again. The wind starts to blow stronger and the gusts hit him without any mercy. He steps a little closer, Amara now only a few feet away. “I won't say it twice. Either you leave and you can go after… God or whatever you wants, or you stay and I swear I'll kill you.” He says, and his words make all the angels shiver, looking at their evil leader with dark frowns. He may be burning of rage, but will he be able of controlling it once he will face her? And as the worst possibility, will he be able to draw himself away from that biblical bond?

 

Suddenly, a voice resonates among the crowd. “Where's Lucifer?!”

 

Amara gives a look to the dark angel with silver wings that spoke and raises an eyebrow. “Lucifer?” She shrugs, as if the memory was distant, blurry and futile.

 

“Well, he wasn't useful anymore.” She says, snapping her fingers.

 

Next to her, something falls heavily on the ground. The angels hold their breath and Dean winces, as if the pain was reaching to him. On the hot soil, Lucifer is laying, barely breathing, his face covered of thick red blood and severe burns, cuts letting thin ribbons of grace escape his body. He spits at her feet and tries to sit right, but his limbs seem to be weak and his hands tremble, his chest rises and crashes with difficulty. Long threads of thin skin hang from his arms and he winces everytime he takes a breath.

He raises his head and seems to notice them for the first time. He freezes and his eyes fall on Castiel, before he swallows down hardly. His wings look miserable behind him, tattered with broken bones and yellowish torn apart feathers, his betrayal turning back to him like the wind on the sea.

 

He winces and tries to crawl away from Amara, before he finally manages to stand up and walks slowly to them, eyes full of hope. Dean stops him before he can even speak.

“Where do you think you're going?” He snaps, his palm pushing Lucifer away, the archangel giving him a half hurt, half confused look.

 

“Please, just let me pass.” Lucifer croaks and Dean blinks, puzzled by the pain and fear he reads in his clear snake eyes. “I know you want to kill me right now, but I guess you'll just have to wait in line like everyone else.” He steps a little closer, begging Dean with all his soul. “Just let me go away from her and then I'll let you do whatever you want to do to me.”

 

The demon grits his teeth and gives Castiel a look. The blue eyed angel stares at his brother coldly and Lucifer turns, freezing under the haunted aura floating around him. Castiel's eyes travel on Lucifer's wounds, to his broken wings, before they fall back on his face, strong like acid and storms. “Let him pass.” Cas snaps and Lucifer gives him a surprised look but still walks carefully behind Dean who glances at Castiel, confused.

 

“You don't have to do this Cas-”

 

“I know.” The angel cuts him, eyes turning back to Amara, his soul as cold as the Arctic sea. “I'll take care of him later.” He says and Lucifer freezes behind Dean. The demon's gaze lingers on Castiel, a lump on his throat before he looks back at Amara, clenching his fists. He now has the proof she is worse than he thought, breaking a deal like a thief and a coward.

 

“Are you going to decide?” He snaps at her, focusing back on her hard features.

 

Amara's cruel smile fades suddenly. “I don't think you understand, Dean. I leave you the choice. You come with me and I spare your family. Or-” She gives a look around, his eyes landing on Sam that glowers at her, then Eileen, Charlie and finally Castiel, before they fly back to Dean. “I shall destroy them.”

 

“I won't let you.” Dean snaps, raising his blade in front of him. Next to him, his angel and his brother do the same, knives shining under the skies covered in flames.

 

Amara has a little sigh. “You're so selfish, Dean, do you realize that?”

 

Dean has a strangled, incredulous laugh? “Selfish? Me?” He narrows his eyes at her. “And who says that? The woman that is ready to kill hundreds of people just for revenge?”

 

Amara looks at him and a mad spark appears in her irises. “But I don't care about them. They're nothing to me.” She tilts her head once again, getting closer, her darkness starting to fizz on Dean's skin. “But you, you're ready to let all the ones you love die, because you care more about your freedom than about them.” Her lips curl into a terrifying smile. “Your mother would be proud, Dean.”

 

“Don't you dare-” Dean starts but she cuts him off, brushing his words away.

 

“Or what? You will send your celestial pets to hurt me?” She has a thunderous laugh that shakes Dean's bones and a black cloud appears around her, bubbling like a hot sticky pond. When she speaks again, it is thousands of whispers piercing Dean's temples. “I cannot wait to see you try.”

 

It is too much for Dean. All his darkness explodes in one burning sunrise and it blows so strong that the pines bend with gruesome noises. He lets out a battle cry that makes the skies shiver and the clouds turn into waves, the world is upside down, hanging on a thin thread of wrath and revenge. A growl fills his throat and his eyes snap to black, his blood boiling in his veins, hot, cold, gold, silver, chaos.

His lungs are ablaze, the whole ocean of angels rising behind him, wings spread behind them while Amara unleashes hounds and horses of smokes, glowing blood-red from the inside, showing sharp fangs. Lightning strikes green right next to them and they howl as the wave crashes down on the goddess, darkness against light, betrayal against sacrifice. Blood is ready to flow.

 

**X**

 

The first wave is made of halos and wings and silver blades. There is electricity running in the air, cracking in thin blue and green threads, piercing the sky that is now covered of blood-red clouds as if the Heaven was bleeding, celestial cuts and biblical wounds staining the Earth, dripping rubies, liquid Hell falling down on humanity.

 

A moment the field was quiet and calm, the breeze only carrying an evil heat, a strange stench floating between the goddess and the army, as they stared in each other's eyes, loathing bubbling in their itching veins. The second after, Dean's battle cry had ripped the silence apart and some kind of ripple shivered among the crowd behind him. This scream was powerful, so full of anger and suffering, something that opened their chests with violent hands to put the will to fight inside them. The angels trembled of excitement and suddenly they were not human silhouettes, beating their soft wings in the spring as the sun would shine on them.

They turned into warriors of ice, soldiers of rain, knights of winter. They shouted behind him in one terrifying sound that filled the garden, making roses fall on the ground, pines set on fire, long, bright flames licking the skies, rising in thick smokes to touch the golden doors. Their angelic features that softened during the past days turned into a cold, rough marble. Their lips twitched, making white clenched teeth appear under blue lips, like snow on summer sky. Their stare became sharp, spicy, glacial, freezing to the heart, limpid like lakes of melted crystals. A deep, blinding light appeared in the bottom of these rivers, shining of grace and rage. The wrath rose in their throats, exploding in thousands of bubbles of poisonous soul. The wings would beat nervously, turning the air and the ground electric, a sea of brown, gray, black, white, gold, silver moving at the same time, tangled together in a neat chaos, splashing wrath around.

 

They raised their blades in the same wide motion, piercing the sky striped in blood. Memories flashed before their eyes, of the pain they felt under Amara's claws, the way she ripped everything from us, from their wings to their lives. If the experience left them traumatized and scarred, something did not change. They will fight the impure, smite the monstrous. They gave a look at each other and they nod, solemn, hearts beating at the same time, throbbing behind ribs of ice and salt, grace pulsing every color of the Creation. They do no think twice and rise above the ground, pushing their body way above, leaving burning footprints on the earth.

They cover the sky with their wide open wings, flags of stardust and wrath, the largest feathers looking like knives ready to be thrown. Their eyes glow of a frightening white, blueish light, shining cold beams on Amara. The air feels colder around them, a thin rain of grace falling down on Dean and the others.

 

They suddenly beat their wings and like a swarm, they dive on Amara, weapons glimmering bright in their palms. As she sees them getting closer, her lips twitch and she moves her wrist a little, a thin shield of gray smoke appearing between them. The first angels, the ones on the first line, the younger ones as Castiel dreaded, fall on the ground the second they touch it, dozens of celestial moths hitting the soil, all the air leaving their lungs at once as if they took a blow to the stomach. They roll on the grass with silent screams, incapable of making a sound, their short wings flattened behind them, frozen under the shock.

Their older brothers give them a desperate look and a few of them lands on the ground next to them, and they wince when they see the bad burns spreading on their skin as tears of agony rise to their innocent eyes. They try to heal them but when their fingers touch the wounded creatures, the spell bites back and they have to remove their hands hastily, the poison floating and swarming on the young angels, keeping them one the ground, breathless.

 

The ones who are still flying gives Amara a dark look and thunder rolls on the field. They taste lightning on their tongues and suddenly there is a soft whistle shivering in the air. A few angels move to let some of their brethren pass and stand in front of the veil that shaped into a castle with towers covered of thorns, as Amara steps back slowly.

The angels that now stand in the front raise their palms and they are immediately filled with balls of blue light, glowing, thin threads snapping back and forth, wrapping themselves around their fingers like bright rings. Their bodies become tense and their wings beat slower, and suddenly the power bursts out of their hands.

Wide, blinding flares spurts out of their graces to dive on Amara's spell, piercing the thick shadows, shaping into translucent dragons, beating their wings of steel, blowing blue fire on the goddess. She raises an eyebrow and her eyes snap to a muddy color filling them whole, brown and red mixed together, blood in dirt. Dark veins snake under her skin, circling around her neck, tainting her fingertips. Her soul explodes and the wall gets stronger, making the angels wince as they push their grace further, clenching their jaw, sweat beading on their skin. Everytime one falls, another one replaces him.

 

Amara seems to be too confident and as she looks at the angels with a smirk full of contempt, the spell starts to split, getting weaker every second, entire holes pierced in the smokes. As she is too busy mocking the creatures, a few of them enter her bubble, fluttering silently, carefully, wings of paper whispering in the dark. They stand behind her, lowering their chins as they dive their eyes on her back, wanting to rip it pieces by pieces, cut the snake slice by slice, twist it around, strangle it until it gives its last breath.

One angel gives her brother a look and she spreads her wings, tainted of a blue so dark it appears black, splattered of white. She rises softly with her night sky flags, and the silence is all around, her feathers barely singing under the wind. She is above Amara and suddenly one of her brethren moves, his grace rustling. The goddess freezes and suddenly turns back, her muddy eyes opening wide when she sees the celestial creatures standing behind her. She grits her teeth and clenches her jaw, a low growl rising in her throat. The air glimmers black around her and a few strands of her hair float around her face, the leather of her jacket seem to be made of solid blood, her pale forearms like claws.

 

“What are you-” She starts, before her words are cut by a violent pain in her back.

 

Everyone and everything hold their breath as Amara slowly turn around, mouth agape of surprise. She looks at the blonde angel facing her with silver rough eyes, and one of her bony hands moves to touch the cold blade piercing her skin. The weapon dived in her flesh, just between the shoulder blades, as if the angel tried to destroy her invisible wings, and a blinding light appears from the wound, flowing from the blade like poison. Her palm frames the knife and she takes it out of her flesh, with a strangled cry of pain. The second it hits the ground, her mouth is filled with thick black liquid, and she suffocates. She raises a hand to her lips and suddenly, her legs give up underneath her.

She falls on her knees with a miserable sob and her long hair falls in front of her face, masking her expression. There is wave of screams swelling in the angels as they shout their joy. They land on the ground, wings beating happily, beyond control. They all walk to the blonde angel that defeated the beast and hold her in their arms, tangling their feathers with hers, sending bubbles of bright soul to her. The wall Amara created crumbles down, turns into smoke when it hits the ground. The angels shout louder and fresh lightning strikes around them as the sky turns clear again, the blood washed away by holy water running in fearless veins.

 

Dean observes the scene, and his mouth is dry, his mind heavy and black on him. Something shakes in his stomach, acid, violent, a pond bubbling inside him, turning his body into a sore volcano about to explode. He should feel free, he should feel relieved. She is gone, she is nothing but a pale corpse now. He can start a new life, he is thrown back to the beginning when no dark goddess wanted him as her knight, when no storm was growing in his guts, threatening to rain down on his sanity.

He takes a short breath, tastes it on his tongue. Something is wrong, some kind of electricity still running between him and Amara's last remains of life. It is not that it is different. On the contrary, it is still there, bright, powerful, chanting in the wind. He swallows hardly and turns to Castiel who darkened the same way. He looks at the angels celebrating their victory with a hint of bitterness, watching his brothers throwing their grace around like fresh water, filling the dull obscurity with their golden laughter.

 

“I don't understand.” Dean croaks, his eyes looking back and forth between the angels and Amara, who is still like a motionless marble statue on the ground. Something strikes in his heart and he surprises himself feeling envious towards the celestial beings. He should have been the one defeating Amara, not them. Where is his revenge now? Where will he find comfort? In this rotting flesh, those yellow bones, these faded dead eyes? He clenches his fists and grits his teeth. There is a strange feeling pulling all of his heartstrings, and he controls himself not to burst out of rage. It felt too easy, too cold to his taste, and he wishes he would have bathed in Amara's blood and broke her limbs one by one, counting the scars he would have left on her skin. He wishes the world would freeze, become blurry and make a few steps back, and he would take his chance to be the one to slice her throat.

 

And he realizes he should have listen to his mother when she told him to be careful about what he was wishing for. Those silent whispers in the back of the mind are poisonous, they slowly fill the skull, and their power is beyond comprehension. Take a few words thrown into loathing or desire, and twisted by Fate, they become real. Not everytime, no, but just a few desperate moments that want to shine and turn into a coincidence that freezes the body entirely.

 

That is what Dean understands when the blonde angel who slayed the dragon explodes into tiny, shiny pieces of mirror and grace, pale blue powder floating above the earth. There is a moment of silence, a heavy second of astonishment before there is a cry among the angels. One by one, the lungs open again and the air gets inside, filling them painfully. They look at the last remains of their sister fall on the ground before they raise their eyes, soul turning icy inside.

A thunderous laugh flows around them like a black river and suddenly the sky turns back to its sick blood-red color. The storm roars around them, lightning pierces the clouds and crashes at their feet, making them stumble back of fear. The angels fold their wings suddenly, neatly behind their back, afraid they would get ripped by the hurricane growing around them.

Dean gets closer to Castiel and Sam does the same with him. The demon gives his brother a look to see the dread growing in his pupils.

 

Amara gets up, still laughing, her smile twisting her features of ice as her eyes of mud fall on them, glowing dangerously. She wipes the black goo that flowed out of her mouth on the back of her hand before she dives her irises into the crowd.

“I must admit, these little things do hurt.” She says, her voice resonating around, piercing Dean's temples once again as she points at an angel's blade. She has another amused laugh that shakes her shoulders under the leather. “But did you really think it would be enough?” She asks and a cold silence falls on them, turning them into stone.

 

A whisper swells among the angels who shiver of anger and incomprehension. Suddenly, one them shouts and rips through the air, his pale gray wings throwing shadows on the ground. Before he can even land a hand on Amara, she snaps her fingers and he falls next to his sister in a neat heap of ashes, glimmering of blue and silver.

The angels stand in silence, too shocked to say a word. Dean sees the fear growing inside them like a disease. They suddenly realize they are nothing in front of Amara, just wisps of straw in the storm. They realize their mission is suicide and that their beloved father did not rebuilt them by simple sympathy. They are here to fight until they die, in an endless circle of bloody broken bodies, meant to be put back together again and again like little patient dolls. They look at Amara and their eyes widen. What can they do when a stare freezes them whole?

 

There is a flutter next to Dean and the second after, Ezekiel and Aniel stands in front of him. He realizes he stepped back for several feet, Amara now far away from him. The angels glance nervously at her behind them, as she still stares at the angels with an amused smirk, a near hungry look in her eyes, as she was about to jump then and eat them whole like strange little candy. They turn to look at the demon, their pupils like small black holes lost in the depths of their eyes.

“We have to try something else.” Aniel says, his wings shivering, the burning wind brushing against them like sandpaper.

 

“No, really?” Dean asks, a hint of sarcasm piercing in his voice, despite the fire and the knots in his guts.

 

The angel glares at him and clenches his jaw, giving Amara another look. Ezekiel is still staring at them. He has a long, deep sigh and Dean notices the dark circles underneath his brown eyes. “We will all attack her at the same time.” His irises search Dean's, desperate. “The blade hurt her. We can hold her back until you get close enough to kill her.”

 

Dean swallows down, the unease growing inside him. “It won't work.” He says in a breath, glancing at Amara. When she snaps her fingers and another grace bursts like a firework, he jumps and slightly stumbles back, gripping his blade tighter in his palm.

 

Suddenly, his field of vision is covered by his brother's worried look. A frown darkens his features and next to him, Eileen is made of the same ice as the other angels, her wings frozen behind her as electricity run silver on them. “We have to try.” Sam says and Dean blinks, confused.

 

“It's suicide.” He says, gritting his teeth. It is not that he does not want to do it, oh god, he wants it more than anything right now, he wants to make Amara suffer for everything she has done. But he has a chance in a million to succeed.

 

“I know.” Sam says, almost softly and he dives his eyes into Dean's. His soul is moving fast around him, spinning like a galaxy, a starry record playing the same distraught, but strong melody. “But we have to try, or we'll never know.”

 

Dean shakes his head, clenches his fists, the blade of bone trembling in his palm. “We'll only have one shot.”

 

“We know that.” Aniel snaps, his gray eyes darker than a winter morning, covered by dull snow. “But we can't let our brothers die any longer.” He says behind his teeth before a sudden spark illuminates his eyes. “Or maybe you could go with her, and you'll buy us some time to find another way.”

 

Castiel steps between them, his soul suddenly beating furiously around him, brighter than how Dean saw it for the past few days. “It's not going to happen.” The angel says, and his voice trembles, low, husky, threatening. “Dean can fight her, he is powerful enough.” He adds, glowering at his brother.

 

Dean closes his eyes as the two angels argue, their souls stabbing his body as they pulse of fire. He searches the answer to the situation behind his eyelids, but can only find the darkness. He takes a deep breath. “We'll do what Ezekiel said.” He says and when he opens his eyes again, they look at him, breathless.

 

“It could be dangerous.” The angel with silver hair says, solemn, a hint of worry in his gentle eyes.

 

“Dean, you could get killed!” Charlie suddenly says, jumping in front of him, warm brown wings wide open behind her. She shakes her head, looking at Castiel. “Tell me you will not let him do that!”

 

The demon turns to look at him, and he sees the fear, the grief, the angst painting the angel's face. Castiel gives him a desperate look, before he turns to look at Amara, who is now staring at them, the shadows pulsing stronger around her as they shape into wolves, crows, snakes, moths and spiders at her feet. One of the hounds barks and the sound resonates in the woods, causing Lazarus to start growling next to them, his small eyes turning black, a red light glowing in the center like a signal fire.

The angel seems to choke on his breath as he turns to Dean, emotions floating free in his irises. “I have to respect Dean's choice.” He says, a lump on his throat.

 

The answer leaves Charlie speechless for a moment as she stares at her brother, before she turns back to Dean, tears rising in her eyes. “I don't want to lose you.” She blurts in a breath, her short red curls falling around her face, moving in the wind that gets stronger each second. She shakes her head, lost in denial. “I don't want to!” She repeats, her wings beating gold behind her. Her sharp blade looks wrong in her small hand, a weapon given to the wrong soul.

 

Dean's heart sinks in his chest and he feels the sorrow swelling in his throat. He makes a step to Charlie and wraps his arms around her shoulders, holding her close, a hand buried in her hair. The angel is shaken by awful sobs and Dean frowns, trying to push his emotions and tiredness away. He puts a kiss on the top of Charlie's head and she grips his jacket firmly for a second, before they pull back.

 

The angel's grief moved something inside Dean. He refuses to see the ones he loves die, he hates the choice facing him. Freedom and death or despair and safety. He clenches his jaw and he dives his eyes in Aniel's eyes. “No more people will get hurt. I'm going to do it.” He says calmly, coldly.

 

There is a sob coming from Charlie and when he raises his eyes, he sees Sam looking at him, his face like a mask of silent suffering, as he shakes his head. “Dean...” He starts and Eileen gives him a look, the same blue waves moving around her.

 

The demon puts a hand on his brother's shoulder. “It's OK.” He says. “You deserve a normal life, Sammy. You deserve to have one with Eileen, and have a few kids, or dogs, I don't know. I can't let you live like this anymore. Alright?”

 

Sam clenches his jaw, looking at the ground, trying to hide his feelings, before he has a weak smile and stares back at his brother. “You'll beat her and you'll get out of this alive. I know that.”

 

Dean gives him a compassionate look with a thin curve of his lips. “I don't think so.” Sam's pale blow of joy fades away. “You have to promise me you'll move on after that and you'll forget about me, OK?”

 

Sam looks at him for a long second and his soul is painfully bright. “Only I you let me fight.” Dean opens his mouth to protest but he cuts him off. “I'm going to let you die. I think you can do that to me.” He says, his voice just like a whisper.

 

Dean takes a deep breath. “OK.” He simply says and Sam pulls him into a bone crushing hug, and the demon's face crumbles. He wishes he was born in another dimension, where he did not feel like a dead man since the second he was born. He steps back, and gives the angels a look. “Get ready. Now.” He says and Aniel, Ezekiel and Charlie beat their wings and join the army, the redhead giving Dean a last broken look.

 

Eileen turns to Sam and grips his arm to make him look at her when his eyes are lost into space. He raises his head and dives them into hers. “I'm going with them.” She says softly, putting a soft kiss on his lips and before he can protest, she beats her wings and disappears when he tries to wrap his arms around her to hold his love back. He sighs deeply, his eyes like empty shells before he turns back and looks at the wave of angels getting brighter.

 

Dean finally turns around and gives Lucifer a hard look. “What are you gonna do?” He asks.

 

The archangel blinks and blood is still dripping from his lip. “Give you my help if you want it.” He says and it is the first time Dean does not hear mockery in his voice.

 

The demon nods and the angel beats his broken wings, wincing, and joins the army, leaving a smell of burning and death in the air. Dean sees his silhouette appearing on the other side, yellowish wings easily recognizable among the pure, immaculate other ones. The angels step a little aside when he arrives but they do not try to harm him. At least for now.

 

Dean sighs and turns to Castiel, and his heart nearly stops when he sees the look of pure agony on the angel's face. Dean swallows down, the wind burning his skin. He tries to say something, but not a single sound wants to escape, despite his efforts to shape his ideas into words. The angel shakes his head and he walks slowly to close the space between them, burying his face in Dean's neck, breathing sorrow against the demon.

Dean bites his tongue but this time, the emotions will not be swallowed back, will not be tamed anymore. Tears burst out of his eyes in a sudden way, and his vision gets blurry as he blinks to chase them away. Something falls heavy on his throat as he feels his t-shirt getting soaked with the angel's same grief.

 

He wraps his arms around Castiel and holds him as close as possible, as if he wanted their bodies to collide, become one beautiful bright star, as if they could merge into one light color, their hearts crashing, pounding against each other, wanting to wrap their veins around their bones, become one unique soul of dust and gold. Despite Castiel's strength and the blinding grace flowing inside him, he is so small in Dean's arms, fragile like glass. The angel grips the rough fabric of his t-shirt and cries silently against him, and none of them knows if he will survive.

Feeling him shaking against his ribs, Dean clenches his jaw, overwhelmed by the power of his emotions. “Shit, Cas.” He mutters behind his teeth, his fingers tangled in Castiel's raven hair. “I'm so sorry.” He says, not really knowing about what. Or maybe it is about everything. Sorry for hurting him, leaving him, disappointing him, making false promises, breaking them, and loving him every damn day he spent on this Earth.

 

Castiel's soul gives him a last weak blow before he steps back, tears already dry on his cheeks, leaving strange patterns on his skin. He takes a deep breath, gathering his strength back into one ball of white light. His eyes are painfully empty, numb like cold voids when he grips his blade again. Dean turns around and looks at his brother who has a weak smile. The demon gives the house and field a last glance, breathes in the pines and honey and starts walking.

 

**X**

 

One step _. Thunder._ One Step _. Lightning._ One Step _. The Storm._

 

There are war drums in Dean's chest. They are beating, slowly, in a hypnotic, dreadful melody, like an old rusted jukebox spitting on his heart. And that traitor, it beats so fast, so loud, it fills his ears, the blood flows like a river in his temples. It is like it turned into a wolf, biting his ribs one by one, breaking them under sharp fangs. Fire and ice run down his spine, swirling together in an impossible, mad dance.

And yet, there is this calm, this nearly frightening slumber taking him in its arms, making him numb, cold, his every moves calculated as he puts one foot on the ground, and the other, and again and again he burns the soil under him, leaving small flames that die under the wind with a broken moan. He looks on one side and sees his brother, tall silhouette under the Chaos, gripping his knife so tight his knuckles turned white, clear eyes fixed strong on his target, he is innocent and yet he is a killer, he is about to become one. When he turns on the other side, he sees his angel, walking head held high, blue irises glowing under the red neon skies, silver blade in his palm, black hair moving under the wind, ravens flying in front of Dean's eyes.

 

The woods are silent, everything holds its breath. The only song floating around them is the one dripping from the lips of Death, singing them to sleep. Dean clenches his jaw and he is now standing in front of Amara, who gives him a soft smile, as if they were lovers under the sunset, about to run from everything and everyone. He could almost believe she is about to hold out a hand to him.

Her lips spread wider. “Are you coming?” She asks, _almost_ softly and her sugar voice makes Dean shiver inside.

 

He clenches his fists, trembling of rage, acid boiling green and yellow inside his veins. “On one condition.” He mutters behind his teeth.

 

Her eyes light unwillingly as she raises an eyebrow, half surprised, half joyful. “Anything.” She says, giving him a blinding smile that fills Dean's heart entirely, moving the strings, emptying it of all its blood.

 

“You let my family and the angels alone.” He says.

 

“That's all?” She asks, intrigued, as she lowers her guard, falling right into Dean's trap, getting stuck in the spiderweb.

 

His face is like a mask of ice, like an angel's face. “Actually, there's something else.” He says.

 

_Light for blood, wings of steel, knives of fire and ice and crystals falling down the skies, storm made of screams and anger, revenge boiling silver, fear tainted in gold like a work of art to throw to the ocean, tears for the ones that are nothing more than ashes, tears for the father that only gave pain and frustration, tears made of milky stars and stardust, they are like glacial suns circling, birds of prey above Creation's most awful offspring._

 

“I'm listening.” Amara says and Dean is the only thing in focus, his silhouette, his eyes, his power, his soul, his everything. He is the lighthouse in her night. She needs him like she needs blood and smoke and alcohol that sets fire to the heart.

 

_Storm that rises above the ground, bodies collide together and they are one being of light, one creature made of the deepest seas, they scream but she does not listen no, she does not. All their eyes are on her and yet they are invisible, wind, air, life, death, hands ready to frame her neck, hands ready to pierce her lungs and let the moths escape from them, hands ready to rip the heart that pumps black._

 

Dean smirks. “You can go to Hell.” He says and the world is turned upside down.

 

The angels are standing in circles, surrounding each other, holding pale hands. In the middle, the light started to boil, bubble, thick and elastic like moon tears. The glow moves a little and rises above the ground in a soapy ribbon where they can see the universes shine through. It is a flare snapping back and forth, licking the soil at their feet, coming from the depths of the Earth, trying to fly back to the skies. The angels clench their teeth and their eyes are suddenly illuminated of the same color, and songs and prayers move in their limpid irises, pure white milky seas, treasures lost deep inside. They are the sin and the celestial, and they beg for the power. The flare answers and levitates above their heads, slowly circling above their halos and suddenly dive in one chest. It is an angel with skin like the darkest wood and he takes a deep breath, sharing the magic with his brethren, making the lunar flare flow in their bloodstream. They gather their strength and they scream as the spell running through their veins shouts and bursts and suddenly they are **ONE**.

 

There are no more silhouettes beating wings, but one ray of holographic light that is sometimes silver, sometimes blue, sometimes purple and green and gold. It is one immense arrow pointed at the sky, with hundreds of wings and graces.

Amara raises her head to the creature that covers her with a hard look, thousands of silver eyes blinking in one motion. The flare twists and small threads of electricity tries to escape, reminding Dean of the surface of the Sun. When he narrows his eyes, he sees that the light is more like a cage for celestial birds, a shield, an armor and he sees the little angels fluttering inside this incredible veil that protects them and surrounds them with energy and warm light. When he blinks, they become dots of light, melting into the spell and they are perfect, immaculate white stars, except for one, that shines a little golden, a little human, and he sees Sam raising his eyes to that one, silent prayers dripping from his lips.

 

It feels like the eternity on one flat line in front of Dean's eyes, and yet it is the matter of one second, if not less. He is mesmerized by the power rushing through him, the grace his body seems to absorb as if it was craving light. There is a soft whistle and he blinks, focuses back and sees three small silhouettes standing at the edges of the veil. One with black and white wings, one with silver hair, one with a grieving purple soul. They all look at him and the whispers fill his heart.

 

_You're our only chance now. We'll make her weak so you can get to her. Save us._

 

Dean's breath is suddenly taken away, the flare rises higher and the Flood crashes down on him, and his eyes are burning, and his lungs and his skin and his soul. It is a river of blue flowing around him, all the creatures of the Creation running next to him, shrieks making their way to his brain. He follows the move as the ocean passes over him and shapes into a hurricane, all the angels screaming in the same monstrous sound that breaks glass and bones and the storm collapses on itself before it howls and dives right on Amara.

The light explodes and the goddess screams, now feeling the real pain and not just the fresh sensation of a blade in her flesh. The wave crashes down on her and the angels are separated, all leaving red warm marks on her skin as their knives brush against her, one by one, cutting deeper everytime as they fly in circles around her, burning the grass of cold blue fire at their feet. Wings of steel caress her bones and she screams everytime, of anger and pain.

 

She unleashes her demons with a quick move of her hand and hounds and foxes made of smoke run to them, slobber dripping from their maws, eyes glowing red in the sky that keeps darkening. They jump on the angels that start fighting against them, ripping the black mist with their blades, pushing their souls harder to Amara.

There are moths and bats and horses and owls trying to puncture the angels' eyes, trying to rip their hearts to eat them in one hungry mouthful, trying to lick their graces. The angels screams and they move fast, diving a blade in one flank, one head, one back. Their eyes are illuminated, all the grace rushing in, but Amara is stronger and her monsters are evil, monstrous, children of the night. A young angel is fighting against a creature with snakes for hair, his jaw clenched, sweat beading on his skin when another one dives its horns in his back. He stops moving and lowers his head, astonished, looking at the sharp weapons coming out of his stomach. He hears his name shouted by one of his brother and he barely has the time to look at him before he falls on the ground, lifeless.

 

It is a massacre. Many creatures are killed, black goo covering the ground in eternal stains, limbs, smokes, blood all in a gruesome pond, but there also pale corpses with soft wings, laying on the cold earth, eyes wide open, never blinking again. Some immense birds land on them and try to take a bite of this silky flesh that melts under the tongue like clouds, but the other angels chase them away with screams that make the creatures burst in black sparks.

Dean stares at the battlefield, speechless, frozen. He is outside the storm, and yet he feels like he is sucked into it a bit more each second. He is standing near the veil, watching his Destiny getting closer and closer. He sees Amara turning around, her back facing him, her darkness flowing from her fingertips.

 

Suddenly, the spell opens a little, like two curtains and he sees clear behind the waterfall it created. The angels are still fighting inside and he knows his time has come, but before he can start walking, his brother pushes him behind him and enters the circle of blue fire instead, the spell closing again once he is inside. Dean shouts his name, shattering in a thousand pieces as he tries to run to him, but Castiel holds him back, knowing he would die immediately if he touched the essence of Heaven's wrath. Dean stumbles back and bites his tongue until it bleeds, worry like a cancer in his heart.

 

Inside the spell, Sam is behind Amara. He sees her black clothes dripping of evil, her long hair moving in the storm around her. He clenches his jaw and lowers his chin, rage boiling inside his veins. He is not a killer, he does not enjoy pain and he is afraid of the monster he turns into in his worst nightmares. But right now, he just wants to make her suffer, make her pay for what she has done. He walks to her and with a scream that makes the sky shiver, he dives his knife in her back, just between the shoulder blades, unique metallic wing.

 

She holds her breath as he takes the weapon back and she turns around, eyes wide open of surprise. “How dare you-” She starts before he dives the knife back in her chest, right in the heart. Black blood flows from her mouth and she spits it on the ground. “You know this will not kill me.” She says, a scary smile on her lips.

 

“I don't care.” Sam snaps as he gives another blow in her stomach, the knife soaked in blackness when he takes it out. She raises her mad eyes to look at him, smirking. She tries to push him away but he avoids the attack with an incredible speed and lowers his upper body and her claws only catch the air. He stands back again and moves like a dancer of death everytime, and she cannot touch him, he is like water flowing through her fingers. She tries to hurt him but he is the only one who can, pushing the blade deeper in her body everytime.

 

“It's useless!” She roars and lions burst out of her fingers to jump on the angels that answer with a terrified scream.

 

“You destroyed my life.” He answers and stabs her again, his fingers getting soaked in the blood bubbling from her wounds that heal the second the blade is out. He shakes his head and he does not want to fall in insanity, no he does not want to change but he cannot stay like the golden heart he is in such a moment. So he stabs and stabs. “This is for killing my family!” He shouts, and pierces a lung. “This is for using me!” In the stomach again. “This for taking my brother away from me and hurting my friend!” Right in her evil, dead heart. He twists the blade around and she winces for the first time, a few creatures disappearing around her.

 

Sam cannot feel his limbs anymore, tears streaming down his face, making his field of vision blurry and red. He tries to avoid Amara's claws but this time he is too slow and weakened and she hits him, pushing him against the waterfall, the shock expelling the air out of his lungs, his body falling on the ground as he tries to breathe, feeling like fire replaced his blood. A light leaves the spell, a star falls from the firmament and suddenly, Eileen is by his side, worry freezing her wings. One of them is broken, hanging on the dirt behind her. She helps him getting up again but before they can talk, another wave of creature falls on them and they have to fight back against back.

 

Dean is outside the veil and now he cannot stay where he is. His limbs are shaking and he cannot wait anymore, he already waited too much. A growl rises in his throat and he searches the source of all his power inside him. He travels inside him and finally he finds it, the ball of black light sleeping in his heart, making its nest behind his bones. He shouts and wakes it and suddenly, it bursts out of him, dark solar flares like snakes and ravens, ready to kill.

There is another soft whistle, barely shaking the air, making it blurry for a moment, before the curtains open again and Dean sees the battle inside. There are remains of Amara's monsters and his eyes just brush over them to land on the angels, fighting furiously against creatures coming right from their nightmares, and Dean's heart stops when he sees the corpses scattered across the ground like ashes, with motionless wings and empty lifeless eyes. There is a soft pressure on his fingers and he lowers his head to see Castiel pressing them in his palm, the grip getting stronger, turning their skin white. The demon raises his eyes but the angel is not looking at him, he stares at the breach in the spell, a lump on his throat. When he feels the evil stare on him, he turns and his blue eyes dive into Dean's.

 

“Are you ready?” The angel whispers, his soul covered by a shiver, as if he threw a rock in this calm water flowing around his head.

 

“Yes.” The demon answers in a husky voice, all his being wanting to jump out of his skin as he starts walking to the fight, Castiel following him closely, fingers still tangled together.

 

Dean crosses the angelic spell and it closes again behind them. He is trapped now, there is no turning back. He looks around and his eyes are blinded by all the details floating in front of them. There is the grace painting the smooth liquid wall around them, the shadows flying above his head, screaming as they dive on the angels, there is the sound of blades falling on the soil, the bodies hitting it with a thud, the black blood and the light mixed together, the Earth sipping it like a new liquor. He sees his brother and Eileen fighting next to each other, trying to kill a black phoenix spitting burning ashes on them. He sees Aniel helping Ezekiel getting up and his silver brother nearly falls against him, holding on his arm to gather his strength back, blood dripping from his hair. He sees Charlie having a battle cry before she dives her weapon in the heart of a wolf about to jump on her.

 

Dean takes a deep breath and his fingers release Castiel's, and it feels like a part of him suddenly drift away, as the angel gives him another sorrowful look before he runs into the battle, immediately surrounded by his brethren that protect his weakened grace. Dean tries to find the raven hair among them, worry devouring his thundering heart, in vain. He turns around and his soul freezes when he sees that Amara is staring at him, a smirk on her lips.

“I must say I admire your stubbornness, Dean.” She says, making a step to him, her skin as immaculate as if she never fought at all. A cold drop of sweat rolls down Dean's spine. She tilts her head slightly. “You could end it all now.”

 

Dean clenches his jaw. “Really?” He snaps behind his teeth, his blade feeling like flames in his palm, trembling of excitement to dive in evil flesh. He makes a step closer. “Something tells me you're not the kind to honor a contract.” He says, and his eyes flutter briefly to Lucifer, fighting against a winged creature that melts everytime he tries to catch it. His faded wings are dropping miserably behind him.

 

Amara has a little laugh and she is suddenly just a breath away. “Tell me you don't feel pity for this cockroach.” She says, giving Lucifer an acid look. The archangel seems to feel her eyes on his neck and turns slightly around, and this single second of inattention causes the monster to rip a handful of feathers from his wings. Lucifer turns again to him, screaming of agony and rage. Amara turns back to Dean, her eyes fixed strong on him. “Why don't you understand? You disobeyed. I have to punish you for that.” She says, frowning slightly, as if she was confused.

 

“I don't belong to you.” Dean answers and his rage becomes stronger, burning his bones as it snuggles in them. “I don't owe you anything.”

 

“That's what you think, Dean.” She says calmly and one of her hands suddenly moves and before the demon can think, it lands on his arm.

 

_His mind goes black and he stops breathing. His head turns into a dull desert, the wind blows and it pushes him on the ground, he rolls on the sand, sees the grains are made of tiny bones and suddenly blood bubbles under his body, escapes the earth to taint the plain of a dirty red. He gets up and tries to run away, but he is suddenly chest deep in the mud and he has to crawl in it, guts and veins are floating around him, the stench fills his lungs and he swallows his disgust back, arrives on the shore, exhausted, puts his head on the soft soil. Light appears in front of his eyes and he raises them. Fairies are staring at him with irises full of curiosity, what a strange creature they see, horns piercing his head, the tip pointing at the cursed skies that turned blood-red behind the lake surrounded by the woods. They can see the wings of leather draped on his back as he tries to stand up on his weak shaking limbs. They hold out a hand to him and he smiles, but as soon as his fingers touch theirs, a new wave of visions crashes on him and he is swallowed back in the depths of the river._

_He is at the bottom now and he sees the water moving black and blue around him and he sees the corpses falling one by one to touch the ground next to him, and they all wear masks of familiar faces. He melts under the earth and falls in an empty castle decorated of flames, he looks around and suddenly he is on his knees, sitting on someone's stomach, holding him down. The man begs him to let him go and this voice sounds so strange in Dean's ears and he cannot bear the softness and the pain of it. He tells him to stop but the man keeps talking, his gentle broken melody driving Dean crazy. The demon circles his throat with his hands and he puts all his strength on it, and there is a blue light coming out of the stranger's mouth, floating a moment in the air before it disappears and when Dean removes his hands, his fingertips are tattooed on the man's skin. Dean sighs deeply, closing his eyelids of relief but when he opens them back, Castiel's dead eyes stare at him, tears still making them glassy. There is a deafening scream burning Dean's throat and he stumbles back and the marble covering the floor crumbles under him, he falls into an empty blackness, a cold void and he shivers and Amara's voice is at every corner as he swims among the ink, blue gems falling around him like rain. She keeps calling him and with every words she says he lost his mind even more._

 

His eyes are filled with poison and they snap to black, and he forgot the reason he is here, in this circle of blue fire and he suddenly feels a loathing for creatures with wings and bright souls and swords and he feels himself drifting closer to Amara, his free will fading away somewhere inside him and he feels his grip on his blade weaken. He clenches his jaw and he feels like another soldier among the shadow monsters, and Amara commands him to kill everything around. He moves his head slowly and the world appears blurry, flames colored, slowed down and he sees angels all around and he is about to walk away from Amara's hypnotic smile when a voice resonates in his ears.

 

“Dean! Fight it!”

 

The demon blinks and Amara's smile fades as she turns to the source of the noise. The world turns suddenly at its usual speed and the colors are back one by one, shades of blue illuminating the scene. Dean stands a moment without moving, dizzy when he sees a silhouette looking at him, face bathed in the unreal neon lights. His heart freezes, and then starts beating louder and faster than ever before and the spell is broken. The visions are gone and his body is free, and he sees Castiel staring at him with eyes full of worry and despair, before he has to turn back to fight another monster, his soul still entirely pointing at Dean like an arrow.

 

Dean turns suddenly to Amara and a low growl rises in his throat as his eyes turn blacker than the night, blacker than the power growing inside him. “You don't control me.” He says before he howls and lets his aura ignite like a fire and it spreads its wings of shadows behind him. His scream resonates in the whole field as he dives his blade into Amara's heart, all the burning darkness inside him wrapping itself around the weapon to flow in her blood.

 

Amara has a little sigh. She gives a smile, before a cruel, cold laugh fills Dean's brain. “You really thought you would be enough?” She asks, full of contempt.

 

He blinks, confused and in a move of her wrist, he flies several feet away, crashes on the cold ground, his bones breaking under him. He winces and sees that the battle had stopped around him, the angels are staring at him, all their hope fading in their eyes. Amara gives an impatient smile around, as if she was waiting for them to bow before her and crawl at her feet. Dean gets up, his body sore and numb, blood flowing from one of his temple like a warm river. He searches his blade but sees it is far away behind Amara, still stained of her impure soul. He turns his head to see Castiel a few feet away, staring at him, speechless.

 

The demon growls and walks back to Amara, clenching his fists. It cannot be possible. He once doubted of his power, but now, he knows it can hurt her, he knows he has to try until it destroys her to the last piece. The monsters disappear as she takes all their shadows back inside her and her eyes are filled with that awful muddy color as her smile distorts her marble features. He shouts and throws sparks of black right to her. They crash on her stomach and she barely blinks. He tries again with a new wave of thick oil, and this time she has a few surprised steps back. He shouts and his anger boils red inside his veins.

He is tired by this twisted little game, he wants this to end, but his power is not strong enough, it can only weaken her, but not beat her. Something is missing, something that would make her fall to her knees. He searches in his mind as he stops in front of her, tears of frustration rising to his eyes. What did he forget? Something went wrong, but what? He forgot all his humanity, he was nothing more than wrath and revenge and he pushed all his soul to her, the blackness running free in his itching veins. Why does the Universe want more?

 

And then, he freezes. He remembers the day he met Amara, in that small restaurant. He remembers her voice and remembers her words, and once again he realizes she made a mistake, as he widens his eyes, speechless.

“ _Where there is light, there is darkness. It's a simple rule.”_ She saidand he did not pay attention, but she gave him the key of her destruction, once again.

 

He mutters her words again, and they flow around, land on Castiel's shoulder and the angel's eyes open wide, his heart starting to beat faster as he stares at Dean. This one has a slight nod and Castiel starts walking slowly, until he is standing behind Amara, his soul pulsing wild around his body.

Dean whispers again and his bond with Castiel shines brighter than ever, a thin thread of blue electricity, a neon ribbon that floats between their two bodies that fought, cried, laughed, grieved, loved. He looks at him and all the shadows around seem to crawl to his body. He absorbs them, they run between his ribs and he takes a deep breath, shaking. Amara looks at him, ready to laugh at his defeat. He breathes deeply and forgets the world around, once again.

 

“ _Where there is darkness, there is light. It's a simple rule.”_

 

He lets out a battle cry and in a sudden move, he runs to Amara. He knows that in front of him, behind the goddess, Castiel is doing the same and his soul spreads wide like wings of glass and storms behind him.

Dean's hands catch Amara's throat like a bird and she has a wide smile as his darkness swells and swells until it is a river licking the shores of his mind. She smiles again and it drives him crazy, makes the last drop of his power fall in the ocean. The cloud explodes around him with sparks and smokes and it dives under Amara's skin, crawls under her flesh and bones. He shivers and he barely sees anything than her pale face. His vision is red, blurry in front of his narrowed eyes, red on the edges and he screams once again, the blackness like a dragon that drowns entirely in Amara's body, and he drowns in his power.

 

She has a smile and is about to push him again, when suddenly it fades like snow under the sun. She freezes. Her limbs start to shake and she gives Dean a surprised look, eyes wide open, snapping to normal human brown, and she tries to move, but the demon holds her throat too tight, black thick veins snaking under his skin. A blue light starts to appear in the middle of her chest, as if a star was just born behind her ribs, and it starts swirling slowly, and then faster and faster like a black hole, but it is the darkness sucked inside now, the world is upside down, it will never be the same, the Universe wants blood.

Castiel's eyes turned to ponds of stardust and light and skies and glow in the night that falls on them, they glow like lighthouses in the middle of the tormented ocean. His body is tense, sore, he feels like fading, but he focuses on his grace that moans like the wind, trembles like an old mansion in the woods. His light joins Dean's darkness and together they sing and dance like strange creatures, search each other for a moment before they collide and embrace this new sensation, tasting the savor on their blue lips, fingers and bodies tangled together, glowing evil and neon grace.

 

The rest happens too fast, the world is tired too. The light and the darkness shouts a last time and Amara's eyes fade, lifeless.

 

 

Just after her hand dives in Dean's chest, takes his heart and crushes it in one cruel, desperate motion.

It falls to pieces inside him.


	21. God Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title + Inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tDT21ycR3U

Castiel lets his hand fall back on his side. Amara's skin was burning under his palm, leaving his fingertips black, pulsing softly. He does not smile, he does not throw his joy and pride to the whole wide world. He feels the deepest, emptiest feeling. Of course, he is relieved and his heart feels a little lighter behind his ribs, but he cannot help the guilt and shame from rising inside him.

 

Amara was not evil, not really. Of course she was as far from holy as he is from the stars, of course she had a monstrous soul and her feet left blood everywhere she went and the soil still shivers, just like it always does after a storm. Because that is what she was. A storm made of shadows, brushing the earth, muddy eyes and sin stained hands, dripping red, an animal growling in her body. She was something beyond comprehension, beyond humanity's mad imagination. She was the creature hiding under the beds, jumping from the dark streets, the mother of a whole line of wicked monsters. She was ready to set the world on fire to get her revenge, to find and destroy the one who made her suffer. She was ready to erase this universe because her pain was too great.

But in some twisted way, he understands. Of course he cannot pretend he agrees with her actions, he cannot say her past was an excuse to what she did. But he cannot say that the only right path is the one illuminated by God. That your road has to be paved of immaculate virtues to deserve the life you have been given. He loathes the idea. He, an angel, the purest creation since the beginning of times, made mistakes after mistakes and yet he feels like they could be forgiven because of the grace shaking in his bones.

 

He darkens. Yes, Amara bathed in vices and was capable of taking a life just for her own pleasure. But she was once a good, naive soul. This world, no matter if it was built in celestial hands, is cruel and cold and can destroy that innocence in a blink of the eye. The rules of this Universe are whispered in the night and can change a creature's life in the morning. Humanity was her weakness and it broke her, sliced her veins and let the life flow out of her to turn her into a glacial statue, bitter and brushed by despair. Castiel does not believe evil is roots hidden in the depths of some people and that they come to this world already bearing the icy mark of cruelty. No, he knows it is floating in the stench of the air, and he knows it is too easy to let yourself fall in the dark, that it is easier to be bad than to be good.

Even the purest beings are capable of awful actions. He remembers too well how his brothers and himself hunted down demons and monsters to clean the earth of its stains, how some spat on the Nephilims just for the simple fact they existed. How he was cast out of his home for feeling the forbidden. There, the loathing was coming out of nowhere. Amara is no better, but at least she had a reason. He does not say he understands her choices, but her life was hers, and he does not think she could have been saved if she did not want to. But what he is sure of, is that he just destroyed a life without trying to console the grief and anger inside. He chose to ignore her difference and how she wanted to reach the skies, for a selfish passion.

If it was not for Dean and the ones he loved, he would have tried, oh God, he would have tried as hard as he can because now that these empty eyes are staring blankly at him, he cannot help grieving the destruction of this part of the history. It is like a little piece of the world has been ripped off it, erased, thrown in bleach like it never existed.

 

Amara falls on the floor, motionless, her body hitting with a thud the soil that made her. There is a moment of silence before the noise pushes it away, roughly, without any tenderness, setting fire to the livid hour. The sky has a shiver, it observes the scene with a heavy feeling weighing down on its lungs. It spits his grief in a loud, threatening thunderbolt before it washes the human emotion away with a wind stronger than the one blowing on the desert at night. The sick blood-red color fades away until it is nothing but a pale pink wound that is already healing, a thin scar that the world has to carry. The blue fills back the firmament, a very soft shade that feels so soothing on Castiel's skin as he sighs, the strangeness of the moment like a gem on his throat. He turns to Dean, a thin smile spreading on his lip without any control. Rage and grief are soon there to swallow his sanity and wisdom.

 

Green eyes cross his stare, a little dazed, a little lost, a ghost floating on his mouth, before his features freeze and his face becomes a sore mask. He lowers his head slowly, almost carefully and his breath is blown away. His mind stops, stares, frowns. It is thrown somewhere in confusion and he raises a trembling hand to his chest, just where his heart is. He feels his darkness rushing in, flowing like a mad ribbon, diving in the cold muscle, completely terrified. His soul is panic-stricken, it is too loud in his ears, pumping loud dark blood behind his temples, the walls of his head are crashing down and he has a strange smile, a little crazy thing as his fingers touch the flower blooming on his gray t-shirt.

The pain explodes suddenly out of nowhere and he barely holds back the scream of agony that burns his throat, strucks a match in his head. What he felt like glass shattering in his chest is just his heart, now pierced like the colorful balloons his dad used to bought to him at the funfair when he was young.

Amara's claws reached out through the flesh and bone and muscle and gripped it tight, leaving empty voids in it, and the blood flows and flows, thick and putrid gold tainted of war and sacrifice. He tries to breathe but the air is like dragons inside his lungs and he watches the flower turning into a whole garden on his clothes, wrapping its leaves and roots around his bones, ripping them apart as he aches, mouth agape, suffocating. When he looks at his hands, he sees the blood turned them red and memories flash before his eyes. He remembers the time he sliced throats and his skin was tainted of the same gruesome color, but this time he is the one whose life has been taking away.

 

He snaps his head to Castiel, tears already blurring his vision, red and sharp on the edges, pulsing on his eyes as the pain gets unbearable and he tries to hold it inside, keep it from falling around him as if it was a part of him, as if his heart was capable of leaving its cage of bones, leaving him like all his strength in this moment. He presses the gaping wound and he feels the disgust moving in his stomach as his palm dives a little in his chest, remains of the way Amara's hand was like a sword that turned everything to shreds. He breathes and breathes and everytime the ache gets brighter, stronger, monstrous creature inside him that bites and rips entire threads of his being, hanging from its maw with sticky, disgusting sounds.

There is a sob swelling in his throat and he feels Death crawling from his lungs to his mouth and suddenly the blood bursts out of his lips, turning them from blue to red and he watches the drops crash on the ground, one by one in dreadful slow-motion, and his heart beats so fast, it wants to heal and breathe, it wants the flesh to cover it again, it wants to be surrounded by darkness and nothing else. But the cold wind blows over his soul and he hears the screams coming from the angels. They are celebrating, they are full of life and joy and the spell falls around them, the blue neon walls is celestial dust covering the field, the scene is empty, the show is over and he is the dying light that flickers again, fighting back against the night.

 

Castiel's smile has fallen just like he once did. It is the matter of a few seconds and yet it feels like Time has stopped and flows lazily around him and he sees the red liquid staining Dean's shirt and he sees it on Amara's hand, and he sees the muddy confusion in Dean's green eyes and he sees his hands shaking as he tries to hold himself in one piece, one bloody broken creature that hears the fireworks around, the angels still too blinded by victory to care and see.

 

Shock and terrible, monstrous, pain crashes over Castiel in one wave of shadows and he feels like he could drown in that sea of blackness, and he tries to gets his head out of the water but it finds his way into his eyes, his mouth, his nose and he is suddenly at the bottom of the ocean. A strange, heavy sob appears in his lungs, an apparition that steals his mind away and he keeps himself from falling down. Fear puts its cold hands around his throat, crushes it under careless fingers.

His body pushes him forward when Dean eyes are covered by a veil and he catches him in his arms just before he falls on the hard ground. They both collapse on their knees, Dean's head against the angel's chest, as the grace flows like grieving poison around them. Castiel whispers his name in a heavy breath, all his body shaking like the heart of the earth. The demon blinks and raises his head to him, called back from the world he is drowning in. He winces and shuts his eyes close. Castiel bites his tongue until it bleeds and makes him move a little, the demon's upper body now on his lap, his arm still behind his back, holding his head against him.

The angel shivers as he mutters, passing his grace stained fingers in Dean's short hair. “No, no.” He croaks again and again like a litany, murmuring under his breath as the night is set on fire around them, ashes starting to fall softly on their heads. No, it is not possible, not it is a nightmare. He did not fight to lose him, not again, no he will not survive this. His other hand flutters above Dean's body before it slowly pushes the demon's one to see the wound. Even with the rough fabric in the way, Castiel can see there is no way he can save him. His grace dives under his skin and it searches, explores the land he knows so well, and he sees the void of venom swirling behind the ribs. Amaras's gun pointed at Dean, the animal looking at her with wide open eyes and she put her hands on the trigger, breathed and blew the evil light away. Now he is panting in his arms, shaken by a fever that keeps getting stronger.

 

The angels keep embracing each other, shed a few crystal tears, have bright laughs but suddenly, an arrow made of strangled whispers rips through the air and Castiel's raises his head, too dizzy to even call for help. He sees Sam staring at him, or rather staring at the wounded creature in his arms. He is frozen under shock, breathless, eyes glassy and he shatters right in front of the angel's eyes. In a few steps he stumbles to them and he falls next to Dean, his words getting caught in the spiderweb of his lungs. He breathes heavily and Castiel can see the scars the battle left on him. And it is not just the cuts on his face, the bruises on his neck. It is also the dull colors in his aura, malevolent ghosts haunting him, remembering every soul he stabbed, every cry he let out, every body that fell next to him.

“What happened?” Sam blurts, tears already rising to his eyes as they travel on Dean, as if he was searching for the mistake, the cruel joke, the thread to pull him out of this sick reality.

 

Castiel's look slides on the demon as this one tries to take a deep breath, soon cut by violent waves of blood that flows from his mouth. He raises a weak hand to wipe it away, only leaving a red mark on his lips. Castiel blinks and his heart is heavy on his tongue, dry and dusty. “Amara.” He simply says and Sam raises his head to look at him.

 

Dean coughs violently and moves against Castiel to look at his brother with an amused curve of his lips. “Don't look at me like that.” He says, trying to reach out to him, but the pain is like a blow in his stomach and he freezes, agony moving wild in his irises.

 

Sam's face darkens and his whole body collapses, his soul thrown on the ground like an impure halo. Castiel's blood is boiling inside him and it is like he is watching the scene from another dimension, a thin translucent veil keeping him from reality. All the colors are faded, all his moves are too slow or too fast, his mind is like a flashing light, sometimes illuminating the scene, sometimes drowning him in the dark, a protective hand over his haunted eyes.

He takes a deep breath and whispers inside himself, calling his power to gather in his hands, fresh blue light flowing from his fingers. His grace has a weak moan, a barely audible breath. He grits his teeth, fearing the worst as he lands his hands on Dean's heart, and suddenly electricity runs, crackles, the sky in his head is ablaze, his eyes burn as he chases the tears away and feels the energy diving in Dean's wounded flesh, the stars in his blood trying to fill the gaps in it, stitch it tenderly with galaxies and winds. The hope starts to shine gold inside him and he feels the demon's soul answering with a small blow, welcoming him in open arms and his green eyes turn to him, a sad, so sad smile painted on his lips.

Castiel is about to answer back when the grace turns cold and suddenly snaps back to him, screaming of pain. He flinches and tries to summon it back, but it is stuck in his body, like an useless light in the morning, it flutters with its raven wings and gives him a devastated look and it is _sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry_ but it cannot, it is too weakened now, oh if only he had wings maybe it could help, but does he see he is almost human now? Does he see he cannot do anything anymore and that the dark star he holds against his heart is dying and will soon be nothing but the constellation of his memories?

 

Castiel has a strangled sob and his hands fly back under Dean's back and one of his hand, tangling their fingers soaked in blood together. The angel has a terrified look when he raises his head to Sam and he shakes his head, a lump on his throat. “It doesn't work...” He croaks, shattering inside.

 

“There must be another way!” Sam says, his voice jumping a little levels higher, distorted by fear, making Dean slightly flinch, feeling like the blood started to flow stronger in his temples, carrying a strange melody with it.

 

He closes his eyes for a second and tries to think, tries to ignore the fire glowing in his chest as he aches and aches and suddenly he hears painful tears crashing next to him. He opens them again and he sees Charlie slowly slipping in the dark, falling on her knees next to him. Her trembling hands are covered by the rain of her grief and they flutter above him, a blue light filling her palm. The sensation is now familiar but it useless, it is just tender and soothing, nothing else. It cannot make the pain go away, now that it is deeply rooted inside him, now that flowers are about to bloom in his empty chest.

Dean has a small sigh that makes him wince and the rest of his pale joy fades away. He looks at his brother with cold stone eyes. “Maybe it's better this way.” He says in a breath and Sam blinks, his heartbeats distraught and broken, his aura spinning wild and dangerous around him.

 

He frowns, tears filling his heavy head. “What are you talking about?” He asks and Dean observes him for a moment, with the hair falling in front of his eyes, the sweat and the blood staining it, the way his features are like waves pushed by a heavy, burning breeze.

 

Dean coughs another time, and when he blinks, he thinks he sees Death standing behind his brother, sitting next to him to grieve with him, wings covered of soot and snow and it has so gentle eyes and he could almost drown into that warm darkness. His mind shakes a little and the silhouette is coming into focus, soft strands of brown hair flying in the soft wind. His heart misses a beat when he realizes the hallucinations are beginning and that Eileen is not the Great Reaper, but just a wounded angel like the others, her soul pulsing blue sorrow, her fingers finding Sam's.

He swallows down and it feels like sand and gravel fell down his mouth to cover his lungs. “I think I've done enough wrong in my life, Sammy.” He says and he feels Castiel's body stiffens against him, as his own is slowly slipping into some kind of numb stupor. He gives them a weak smile that hurts his ribs. “Won't be a big loss.”

 

“How can you say that?” Castiel murmurs and his words echo around him, brushing against the others' mind and lips.

 

Dean turns slowly his head to him and dives his eyes into his. Castiel freezes when he sees the life already drifting away in them, faint golden ball at the back of the demon's irises. They are no longer bright galaxies that could make the strongest creature bow before him, shaking and begging. They are empty fields where Castiel looks around, lost among the tall grass that barely moves under the wind.

Dean's look softens a little and he moves to get closer, now every particle of the Creation hurting his rusty bones. “I've done more wrong than good in my life. I can't keep living like this, knowing what I did when I was with her.” He says, giving Amara's body a side look full of hatred.

 

“I'm not going to let you die.” The angel snaps, his grace having a sharp blow inside him, piercing behind his ribs, making his whole body turn cold like the greatest winter.

 

“You'll have to.” Dean murmurs and next to him Charlie laced her fingers with his own, rocking herself in the falling night. It is the blue hour, that beautiful, yet strange moment where the world hesitates between light and darkness, between life and death and attires itself in soft shades that slides softly on the angels' skin. The redhead gives them an imploring look.

 

Castiel realizes that silence has fallen upon them. There are no more happy beats of sore wings, no more bright laughter, no more grace exploding in the skies. He turns to look at them, the same acid tears making his vision blurry and hot. He sees them staring at them, all gathered in a small group, feathers motionless and silent behind them. Some are helping the wounded to get up, some are sitting on the ground, halo dropping low behind them as they cry quietly over their brothers' lifeless bodies, whose skin bears the mark of blackness, long scratches and cuts running on their celestial flesh as they stare at the skies that saw them breathing for the first, and the last time. Their silent prayers can still be heard in the depths of the earth under them.

Castiel's heart has a jolt and the hope starts pulsing inside as he stares at them, breathless, his words getting stuck in his throat. He can only imagine the power of hundreds of his brethren rushing through Dean's aching body, filling it with energy and glory again, making the fresh gold flow in his itching veins as he would start breathing again and he would stand up and face the world and he would start living now and they could bear the eternity together.

 

But they do not move, they do not run to him, grace beating fast, their distraught eyes covering him as they would sit by his side and heal his broken love, the one thing that made him fight and ache and fall, the only thing that is keeping him alive. They stare at him, numb and cold, wings half spread behind them as if they were ready to leave for another dimension. Their starry auras are fixed strong on him and his breath gets stuck inside his lungs as he holds their gaze, frowning, heart sinking in the dark behind his bones. The last sparks of the spell disappears, only leaving a few blue stars floating above the ground.

 

He blinks and he tries to say something, but it is just like he turned into a void, something where thoughts get lost, are sucked into a black hole. Charlie blinks and her cinnamon wings shiver behind her as she turns slowly to them, still holding Dean's hand.

“Please, help him!” She says in a strangled breath.

 

The angels barely blink. Castiel stares at them, speechless as there is a little wave moving among them, before they start walking slowly to them, like a flock of white panthers, Ezekiel and Aniel leading them among the corpses, eyes darker than the night. There is something in their stare that shakes Castiel's heart to the core, a knife of ice twisting in his guts as he watches them approach, and they take their time, they make sure each step is graceful and that lightning strikes behind them everytime, illuminating their wings of a terrifying yellow glow. Castiel is entirely paralyzed now, he holds Dean closer against him and the demon has a weak breath that strikes right into his heart.

 

The angels are now there. Their shadow weighs down on Castiel and he raises his eyes to look at them, suddenly feeling like a stranger, something that does not belong to these merciless beings. Charlie has the same fear in her eyes and suddenly she realizes they are going to take her back with them and her face darkens for a second before another strangled sob coming from Dean makes her turn to him and her anger melts immediately, knowing the sacrifice to come.

“If you heal him, I'll go back with you.” She says in a whisper.

 

“Charlie, no.” Dean starts to protest but his words are cut by a wave of blood escaping the sea moving in his stomach.

 

The angel ignores him and gets up, facing her brothers, wings half spread behind her, throwing gold around in the pale night. “Please.” She begs them, her voice breaking, her lungs shattering as she feels Dean's spirit fading a little more each second.

 

“I'm afraid it won't be enough, sister.” Aniel answers, softly, a heavy emotion in his voice, despite the cold, cruel mask he is wearing in front of her and the words covered of ashes he used.

 

Charlie blinks, puzzled but Castiel is faster. “What are you talking about?” He asks, his voice just like a small summer breeze sprinkled of bleeding sorrow. His fingers run nervously through Dean's hair and the night engulfs him slowly like a ship in the dark water, and he feels it coming into his lungs and his heart and his mouth is dry and his tongue black.

 

Ezekiel gives him a look full of an emotion Castiel cannot understand. His brother whispers his name, slowly, carefully, as if he was approaching a wild animal. He keeps walking silently to him before he has a light sigh. “Castiel.” He repeats and the dark haired angel shivers with the sound rolling on his brother's tongue. “We know what you are feeling, and we would like to apologize.”

 

Castiel frowns. “I don't understand.” He whispers and Dean is barely breathing, and his soul is already rising above his skin, like a thin, glowing veil of sweat. He starts to shiver uncontrollably. “Just save him.” He says, giving a desperate look around.

 

Ezekiel shares a look with Aniel, for a long, painful second before the silver angel's eyes fall back on Castiel. “We know it may be… hard to understand, especially with the extent of your feelings for him.” His look become more serious, a little hint of disapproval in his dark irises. “But you have to respect his choice.”

 

“What do you mean?” Castiel answers, completely lost at sea. Time is running out and his brother would rather talk before they act. The irony.

 

Ezekiel opens his mouth before he closes it, searching for the right words, in a way that will not hurt Castiel. The silence falls heavier on their heads and all the other angels look at him the same way, something along _We are sorry, but we cannot help_ floating on their lips. Ezekiel finally turns to Aniel, thinking he may be more helpful. The blonde angel has a deep sigh that empties his lungs before his gray eyes turn to Castiel, cold, hard, numb, empty.

 

“It may be better this way.” He says, raising his chin, holding his head high and proud, diving his moondust colored irises in Castiel's soul, as his brother freezes entirely.

 

“No.” Castiel mutters, a lump on his throat, shaking, cold and hot, a fever tormenting his soul, and it snaps back and forth inside him, flares of fire licking his eyes and the tears roll on his cheeks. No, the hope is fading away, it is the lantern guiding him in the dark and the rustle of feathers blew it away, it scared the flame and it disappeared, leaving him in the thickest, deepest night he has ever seen.

 

Ezekiel shakes his head softly. “We understand you do not want to live without him. But we believe it is the right thing to do.”

 

“The right thing to do?!” Sam snaps, suddenly torn apart by his despair. He looks at the angels, clenching his jaw, tears making his eyes glassy. “You think letting him die is _right_?!” He shouts and Castiel whispers his name softly, afraid of what his brothers could do to a grieving soul. Sam turns to him, breaking like a mirror and his aura drops like wounded wings behind him.

 

Castiel turns back to his brethren. “You can't do this.” He says in a weak breath and he notices he is shaking dangerously, Dean's body already turning cold in his faded embrace. He wraps his arms a bit tighter around him.

 

The demon coughs again but it is weak, just a small sound ripping his whole soul apart and he buries his head in Castiel's chest, searching for the warmth leaving him slowly. The pain is gone, or at least it is dull, it is just a gray, foreign emotion floating inside him, something playing with his bones and veins and he is tired of it, he wants it to be gone. He wants to slip into liquid gold and sip it through his teeth and let the End coming to him with silky fingers. He is tired of this suffering, he wants to close his eyelids and fall in the Empty, jump off that cliff perched over the ocean. And he knows the world will not miss him, he knows it is better off without him. He wants to disappear and dissolve in the air and be free. But one bright, aching soul keeps him alive, keeps him from falling down.

“Let 'em.” He whispers against Castiel.

 

The angel represses a sob that grows like a cancer on his throat. “No.” He says as he enfolds Dean completely, protecting him, trying to keep him in one piece, throwing all his warmth and strength to his bloodstream. “Never.” He says against his soft hair. He gives a hateful look to his brothers. “You can't do that.” He repeats.

 

“We believe it is not your decision.” Ezekiel says softly, but his words are pure, burning ice, translucent gems diving under Castiel's skin.

 

“Please.” He begs.

 

“We are sorry. But our mission is to protect this world, and we already closed our eyes on the unforgivable. We know it may sound cruel, but it is the right thing to do, and you know it, deep inside. Maybe it was his destiny since the beginning and maybe he should have died the first time.” The silver angel's eyes soften and they melt and drip like honey on Castiel. “You were already there when Death took him. Maybe you should let him go this time.”

 

Castiel stares at them, speechless, tears streaming down his cheeks like burning rivers of invisible flames. “No...” He shakes his head, aching, aching, aching. “He helped you fighting Amara! At the price of his own life!”

 

“We know. But everything happened because he was there. He is a soul that cannot be tamed, Castiel. Neither by us nor you. He destroyed dozens of innocent lives on his own because his emotions were too heavy to carry. He destroyed dozens of others because he is born in the darkness. _He is the darkness_.” Ezekiel's wings has a small, almost sad beat. “We have to make it stop now, it is our duty to this world. If he is alive, the price is too great to be paid, the chaos is always there at the end of the line.”

 

Charlie screams and she jumps on them, finds the nearest celestial body and starts punching it with her clenched fists, the flesh like a war drum under her hands and she shouts and shouts, her wings covered by an electric shiver. “I won't go back with you!” She howls, all her wrath rushing through her.

 

“Your loyalty lays with your family, Charlie.” Her brother says as he catches her wrists to keep her from moving.

 

Her eyes send thousands of little daggers. “You're not my family!” She spits, bloodshot grace exploding around her. “Not anymore.”

 

The dark angel that holds her gives Ezekiel a little look and the silver angel nods slightly. Castiel's scream gets stuck in his throat but before he can move, one of his brother's eyes are illuminated in a sick bright pink and his hands land on Charlie's wings and there is a flash of monstrous light, a sticky neon glow that makes them suffocate. Castiel protects Dean with his body, weak shield in front of the angelic storm, arms wrapped tight around him.

 

When the light fades, Charlie has fallen on her knees on the ground, feathers tumbling down around her, a neatly stitched wound on her back, no remains of her past grace as her now human eyes open wide, breathless.

Castiel stares at her and he cannot say a word. He raises his head to his brothers and they give him a cold look back, sharp arrows of ice striking right into his heart. Charlie crawls back to them, tears dry on her cheeks under the shock, eyes filled with an awful stupor as she throws herself in Eileen's open arms and snuggles against her chest, shaking as the Nephilim's water pearls turns her hair into bright amber soaked in sorrow. The small angel sobs quietly, her face buried in Eileen's neck.

 

Castiel blinks, tears rolling down his skin, burning cold. “Why?” He asks softly, watching Charlie's ribbons of grace still floating like fluorescent worms on the soil, wriggling before they dive under the dirt.

 

“She wasn't following the orders.” Aniel says coldly and his eyes shine of a sick light, as if something the army carried took the control of his body, and he is now a robot, a metallic machine born to kill and obey and lie.

 

Castiel is about to answer something when suddenly he feels Dean having a long sigh against him. It is not a sigh full of pain, rather one full of relief, as if he was gently slipping into another world, as if the tiredness was finally gone, as if he could fall in a gentle sleep, a slight curve on his lips, eyelids barely fluttering against his cheeks. His body becomes a bit heavier, less tense, just an empty weight as his head collides against Castiel's heart, raw ruby beating fast against ice cold skin. He freezes and passes a hand through Dean's hair and suddenly, something strikes in his soul.

There is a violent blow as his link between him and the demon breaks, a ribbon snaps in threads and he feels a black hole swirling inside him, sucking the light inside, he feels all the wind stopping around him, time freezes and the Earth stops spinning. His grace has a questioning weak blow of light when it realizes he stopped breathing, and that one by one his bones shake, his muscles are thin and the blood is silent in his ears, he only hears the memory of a feeling he just lost, floating through space among stardust and blackness. A sob gets stuck in his throat and he lets a thin beam of blue fly to Dean, wrap itself around his wrists, flow in his palm to shape into a ball and it tries to dive under his skin and it tries to find the familiar taste of the fusion of their souls again. But Dean's body is like closed gates in front of him, heavy wooden door trembling under the heavenly call, but still locked forever. There is just a thin space between them, letting a ribbon of red evil light escapes, but it is flickering, weak, unsure and it disappears a little more each second that passes.

 

Castiel's head spins and the world flashes glacial around him as he looks back at his brothers, Dean at the edge of Life, above the ocean. “Don't do this.”

 

Aniel gives him a calm look, his wings barely shivering under the wind. “It's over, Castiel. Nothing can save him now.” He says, beautiful marble statue.

 

“I can.” A voice suddenly says, and something walks through the angelic crowd, splits it in two like a god among the clouds, a devil among the fire. Lucifer appears, tattered wings covered of blood, fizzing under black poison. His eyes are dark, fixed strong on Castiel as he walks slowly to them, the power already crackling in his hands, electricity running wild in the air around him, setting fire to the field in another dimension, and there is a veil falling from the skies, dark smokes appearing above the ground, blinding Castiel's animal eyes. His heart starts beating again, hope like fireworks going off in his stomach and he gives Lucifer a begging look, his halo bowing before the evil angel, and if he had wings he would have gave them again to save Dean, whose breath is almost like the wind in the deepest forest, deadly silent.

 

Lucifer's hand is already reaching out to Dean, smokes wrapping themselves around his fingers when suddenly, several of his brothers grabs his arms and pulls him back, forcing him to step away from them. Lucifer's eyes snap to a bright blood-red and he growls, one of his wing pushing them away with enough strength to make one stumble several feet behind. But more arrive and take him by his shoulders, his arms, his wings even, causing him to howl of rage and pain, dark magic throwing sparks around, some fall on the angels' eyes and they scream when the world turns black, when it feels like the pain found the way to their brains and they fall on the ground, lifeless eyes, holding their heads as they become the blind soldiers they already were.

Lucifer gives Castiel a desperate look behind the burning embers of his irises and one angel blade leaves a scratch on his cheek, deep enough to show a thin ribbon of grace glowing under the skin. There is a strange emotion floating around him, mixture of pain, shame and guilt as he lowers his head, a lump on his throat. As the number of cuts rises on his flesh, he weakens and after long minutes of agony, trying to get away from his brothers' grip, he is taken away from Castiel, a broken look on his face. An angel shouts and his blade scratches Lucifer's chest, ripping fabric and skin at the same time. In a few moves, he created a strange symbol that immediately starts to shine under the Devil's clenched teeth and beading tears, a sick glowing red that whispers. There is a flash of bright light and the second after, the beast is back in its kingdom, safe in its sea of flames.

 

There is now just a weak breath coming from Dean and Castiel does not try to fight anymore. He raises his eyes to his brothers, eyelashes fluttering. The wind is icy, he shivers. The angels give him a look full of cold pity.

“We are sorry.” They say in one voice that makes shivers run down Castiel's spine.

 

The moon tears are back, thick, sticky, translucent, they rain down from the sky, enfold the angels. The lunar storm roars and the wind gets stronger, the pines bend under the power shivering in the clouds. They have another long sigh that fills the air, rings in Castiel's ears and in one perfect motion, they open their wings, all the same time, like a cold ballet. The sharp feathers are pointed at the skies, they close their eyes, they make them rustle, there is a hot wind and the light gets blinding, explodes, blows the field, nuclear. It is like the day replaced the night and all the clarity in the world floats in the air, it is hot and painful, and suddenly the darkness is back and Castiel breathes again, a few milky teardrops falling on him, covering his skin of acid as he curls up into a ball, holding Dean closer, trying to give him all his warmth.

 

And suddenly he feels. Dean's body is cold, tense, the blood is no longer pulsing behind the thin skin of his wrists, it is dry and black on his clothes. His heart is no longer pumping loud, his breath is no longer tickling his neck, his lips are no longer curling against him, his soul is no longer answering the sharp blows of light Castiel is sending him. His soul freezes like a block of ice, it drops and drowns deep inside him and he does not have the strength to shed tears anymore. He moves a little, just to make Dean face him and something falls heavy on his throat, makes all his being dry, hanging upside down, blood dripping, he is no longer an ocean, he is the cruelest desert.

Dean almost looks like he is sleeping. His features are relaxed, a strange calm on them that Castiel never saw before. His eyelashes rest on his cheekbones, freckles like small dark stars, his lips are slightly open, letting his soul escape by thin threads through his teeth. There is still that force, that energy surrounding him, this threatening cloud growing, sparkling around his head like an aura but it just the remains of something that no longer is.

 

A strangled sob shakes Castiel whole and his lip trembles, his hands shake and one of them find Dean's wounded heart, lands carefully, afraid to break it. It listens closely, ready to hear the familiar melody Castiel heard every morning. But it only finds the blackest silence, the most terrifying swirling void, a sharp and spicy darkness. His chest does not rise and crash, it is motionless like the sea on a winter morning. Castiel bites his tongue to the blood and ashes start to fall like snow on them. Sam chokes on his breath and falls heavy against Eileen's shoulder, and Cas does not need to look at him to know he heard the same emptiness. Dean Winchester, the Great Bringer of Death, is no longer a part of this world.

 

**X**

 

Midnight shines above the field. The hour where imagination rises and the mind snaps to let another world create itself. Some see luminous, fragile creatures dancing under the moonlight around a bubbling translucent pond, others see threads of flesh hanging from maws, dirty paws and evil red eyes glowing among the trees. The clock is ticking loud in their ears as the blood pumps in their wrists. Their hearts are on their throats and they swallow nervously as they look by the window, fear grasping their lungs as they look at the world under another veil. Some desperately hope to see the magic glimmering under the light, others glance at the woods, terrified, sweat dripping cold along their spines.

But Castiel only sees the emptiness of the hour. He is sitting at the same place, in the middle of the field, the pines cradling him with their soft shadows. He wishes he was not alone, he wishes they were beings grieving with him, chanting slowly under their breath to guide his soul to peace. But the forest is numb, merciless, a glacial stare striking right into his heart as his eyes get lost into space, and they burn as he stops blinking. He is a broken statue lost in a temple of moss, covered by ash and soot, burning embers falling like stars from the night sky. The trees creak a little when the wind gets stronger, but he does not move, bears the cold without taking a breath, his soul at his feet in a puddle of melted silver, sparkling like strange blood under the moon.

 

Sam, Eileen and Charlie stayed a long time with him, shivering in the cold, bruised and sore, the young Winchester aching, his eyes glassy and milky as he watched over his brother's body, his hands clutching Eileen's hand. He was inconsolable. After living long, dusty years filled with lies and ache, he finally found a home, he finally found what he has been looking for. His brother, his blood, the one who shared his oldest memories, the one he could see through like an open book, his only link to the past, he was now gone. And where Dean was in his heart, there is only a swirling void left, eating all the light away, slowly, carefully.

 

The night fell and Sam would not move. He had severe bruises and wounds, his features were twitching from time to time but he was not saying a word. It was like the scar of his lips had been stitched and he was now a silent, broken soldier on a ravaged battlefield, and he cannot move on, he cannot forget the war and what it took from him. Eileen tried many times to make him get up and get inside, as he was shivering deadly cold, his stomach hurting like Hell, but he did not move until the very last second, when he felt like his body was about to collapse and go back to the Earth, his bones rotting in the soft soil.

Castiel has a small sigh that feels like something is breaking his ribs one by one. His eyes are blurry and he does not have the strength to wipe the tears away. There is a hole in his chest, a windy ghost town. His soul is in dusty ruins and it cannot protect him anymore. The first blow of the storm got him on his knees when the Reaper took Dean's soul in his claws. The second one was about to come, he felt it in the smell of rain, in the shiver of the sky, in the lightning striking on the horizon. He was about to feel worse, and he knew it would begin the second he would walk away from that cold evil star in his arms. He knows he has to move, cold drops are falling on him, soaking him to the bone and he shakes, only protecting Dean a little more. His grace sings a little in his veins, gives him a sad look but he chases it away, knowing that his future is written from now and that there is nothing he can do.

 

It feels so wrong without Dean's smile and laughter and sharp spicy soul. There is an emptiness floating around and it devours him. How long will he stay like this, waiting for a miracle? He has no more faith. If his own brethren abandoned him, he is all alone now, with the night as his only friend, but what a cold, monstrous one. Will ever sleep again when everytime he will open his eyes on the morning the sheets will be empty and there will be no soft hair and soft eyes and soft chest anymore? He stopped crying when it felt like his body could not shed a tear anymore, as if he was a river dried up. But now that the grief goes off like a bomb in his stomach, he feels like even the rain could not wash his pain away. And it swells again, crashes against his ribs and he feel sick, he feels his heart on the tip of his tongue and his lip trembles as he keeps saying to himself that it is impossible, that this is a nightmare.

 

A small strangled sob escapes his throat when a move catches his attention and his head snaps to his left, heart beating fast. Amara's body is still there, laying on the damp ground, the goddess' flesh nearly glowing under the moon. Her blood made a stain under her, a dark red puddle the Earth sipped through hungry lips. But Castiel's soul has a jolt when he sees the translucent silhouette slowly rising above the divine corpse, long hair flying in the midnight, dark eyes shining of pain on a face pale as snow.

 

Castiel stares at the apparition, breathless. Amara gives him his look back and has a soft smile that makes the angel shiver. There is something strange about the ghost that rose from the soil under the poisonous hour of the night. She looks the same, but her features are not tense, they do not look like they have been carved in hard marble, and her irises are warm seas of dark wood.

As if she read his thoughts, she starts to speak. “You're right, I'm not her.” She says, giving a look to her body on the ground. “And she's not me.”

 

Castiel blinks, the rain putting cold tears in his eyes. “Why are you here?” He asks softly in a whisper, looking at the spectral waves of her hair shining under the raw light.

 

She walks a little closer and she sits on her knees in front of him, and her hands made of liquid pearls frame his face so tenderly he freezes, completely lost. She gives him another curve of her lips, terribly sad. “Each soul has its hour to fade away. Mine has come.” She says.

 

“Who are you?” He murmurs, watching the softness of her white face, entire galaxies spinning around her, bright, joyful, full of life. He remembers the darkness swirling around Amara, but now there is only pure, immaculate light.

 

“You freed me.” She answers, her ghostly eyes shining under the moon. “This is who I am, my true form you could say. She-” She turns to her body made of flesh and bones, guilt floating in her irises. “She is something I never wanted to be, and I was trapped inside the monster I became.” She turns back to dive them in Castiel's. “But you ended it all and now I can go. I found my peace.” She says.

 

He has a laugh that sounds like a strangled sob from a dying animal. “I wish nothing of this would have happened.” He mutters, holding Dean's lifeless body against him, clenching his jaw.

 

“So do I.” She says and when he looks at her, he sees the tears streaming down her face as one of her hand lands on Dean's arm. “I never wanted this to happen to him. To you.” She says, a lump on her throat, a weakness in her voice that feels so strange, so unfamiliar to Amara, or at least the one he knew. She shakes her head, breaking inside. “I used to love this world and all its creations. I never thought I'd hurt a soul.” She raises her head suddenly to dive her eyes into his, a cold feeling rushing through his veins as her stare pierces his soul. “I am sorry.”

 

He stays a moment silent, before he has a deep sigh. “I know.” He whispers. “I wish this would change anything.”

 

“He is not gone yet.” She says and his eyes open wide, turning to her, his breath taken away by her words. Her fingers brush against Dean's glacial cheek. “He's still there. Waiting. He should be gone now, but something keeps him in this world.” She murmurs and her look falls on Castiel, a gentle smile full of sorrow on her lip. “You.”

 

“I don't-”

 

“You have to let him go.” She says softly.

 

He stiffens and the tears come back, stronger than ever, a river flowing down his face, tainted of bleeding grace. “I can't.” He says, shivering dangerously, shaking his head, dying inside, exploding in hundreds of sparks of stardust. He holds on Dean even more, like a drowning man, he keeps his head above the dark water and he feels like sinking from the inside, like he is about to collapse like an ivory tower.

 

“I know.” She whispers, echoing to his own words. The moon has a superficial glow, impure white light that rains down on them, illuminating the droplets falling from the skies. The edges of the silhouette becomes a little blurry, shivering like a lake where strange creatures live under the surface, breathing bright colorful bubbles. She is joining the other side. She gives him a sorrowful look. “But it's too late, Castiel. You cannot bring him back now.”

 

He has a heavy sob that worsens when he sees through her, her paper thin body already fading away. “Don't leave now.” He says in a desperate way.

 

She gives him a bittersweet smile and tangles their fingers above Dean's body, her lip trembling of emotion. “I cannot stay for long.” She whispers and he nods, dreading the loneliness with all his wounded, bruised heart and he holds on the ghostly touch. “I'll pray for you.” She adds in a broken whisper.

 

She starts chanting under her breath, her words floating, singing the birth of the world, the fire and the ice crashing down in the sea, the screams and the laughter, the love and the hatred swirling together above the water, the trees rustling under the silky wind, the creatures with immaculate feathers murmuring under the breeze as their silver eyes would cover the ground of white, white oh so white roses, foxes and wolves in the night, feet feeling the soil, hands feeling the ache and the joy, tears falling in diamonds, this world is a golden treasure.

He joins his voice to hers and he sings the steel and the grace, the clouds and the seven seas, the churches engulfed under the moondust and black eyes flickering bright green, strong wings, hands laced together in the dust and the boiling blood, galaxies falling down as his grace falls, drops on his love lost at sea, the spirit of the feeling taking his blue sapphire heart away.

 

As Amara fades away, broken smile and luminous tears, he hears a divine whisper, there is a rain of gold and the light shines inside him, beautiful and bright, as the Father of the Earth cries with him and the grace twists and explodes, flows in the night, gold and emerald. A heart starts to beat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left now! Thanks to anyone who reached that point! ♥♥


	22. The Eternity

 

**_One month later._ **

 

Castiel remembers that night very well. It is a bright, colorful photograph floating above the flames of his heart. It is a work of art that covers all the walls of his mind and he turns and turns around and all he sees is the same scene playing again and again, andhe is forced to watch everytime. He sees the battle, he hears the screams, he feels the energy and the anger moving dangerously inside him. He feels the ghost of his wings spreading behind him as the grace shines terrible, white and blue, fills his palm and he feels it, warm and beautiful as he throws this ice weapon to the goddess' body, letting his soul do what it knows is right. He feels his eyes burning, his blood boiling, his skin itching, the darkness fizzing on his flesh, bubbling around him until he suffocates. He clenches his jaw and he pushes, pushes the grace he bathes in, summons its dreadful melody as it makes its nest in Amara's bones.

He feels the pain, the oh so terrible pain that bites his heart voraciously when he sees the dark red flowers blooming among Dean's ribs, and it reminds him of when he rose among that sea of flames and the same black nature wrapped itself around Dean's wrists and ankles, vine and ivy, calling him back into the stomach of the Earth, and this pale little body must return to the ground, it must crawl in the dirt and the moss, it must become a part of this world and not an useless, impure creature bruising the soil that saw its birth. It reminds him of all the black, thick, dripping blood that seemed to swell under them as he was beating his strong wings of darkness, and it reminds him of the same empty look he saw in Dean's faded eyes.

 

He remembers this fateful night with its every color, sound and sensation. He remembers so well the ache ripping his body apart as he caught Dean in his arms and he shivered and shivered and shivered. He remembers the suffering getting bigger and stronger in his heart as he tried to take a shaking, weak breath and Dean looked at him with the same mysterious smile, hiding the sorrow and the fear behind that soft curve of his lips, the mask that seemed to cover his features even in the darkest times.

Castiel remembers that he felt so angry that the demon hid his emotions even from him, that he played God, and played the invincible knight and soldier and the conquistador of the shadows. His banner was still floating proudly as his heart started to beat slower and slower and he gave his angel another smile that said _sorry, sorry, sorry_.

But Castiel did not want his apologies, no, he was boiling of sorrow and that pride was like fuel to his fire and it shined so bright inside him that he felt the tears burn his eyes.

 

He remembers raising his eyes to the skies, or rather to his brethren that rained down from them, and his prayers floated in the evening, bleeding songs that still play in his veins, sometimes. He remembers their cold stone eyes, their motionless wings, feathers rustling metallic under the stench of the wind. He remembers the blood-red clouds forming above them as their cruel, glacial words filled his ears and he choked on his breath, ache like neon green poison in his throat, tasting like ash. He remembers the lightning striking next to them before they rose in a storm of ice and silver and disappeared, leaving burning footprints covered of grace.

 

And more than anything, he remembers the ache of that night, the heavy hour weighing down on him as the moon rose, luminous and threatening, bathing the field in a ghostly glow. He still feels the shivers running down his arms as the cold breeze brushed over him, and he remembers the terrible loneliness he felt as he kept on holding on Dean's lifeless body, his fists clenched in a stubborn blow of rage, his grace growling blue inside him as the tears dried on his cheeks. He still sees Amara's spirit rising above the damp soil and her soft deep eyes staring at him, breathing from another world as their sorrow would swirl and explodes in the black ink of night. He remembers her words, and the way his heart jumped in his chest at the thought of moving on and letting Dean go. The very idea of giving his body to the Earth and walking away without him to face an empty lifetime drove him crazy.

And finally he remembers the golden rain. His eyes were shut tight and he was praying under his breath, his words tied to Amara's, as the woman was fading away, ripped from the reality he knew when it began. It started with soft whispers carried by the wind that became hot and celestial, glimmering under the moonlight, tainted of the same divine glow. Something, or someone, was murmuring in his ear and he opened his eyes, heart beating fast, raising his heavy head to the night skies, holding his breath. A tender wind enfolded him and his soul shivered inside him, tears rose and beaded on his field of vision as _it_ rained down on him. Hands made of gold, eyes of blooming exotic flowers, a jungle in an ivory chest, rivers flowing through warm fingers, galaxies spinning under pale feet. A silhouette clothed in sun sang with him, tears of fire and honey dripping on his halo.

 

He could barely speak, the beauty of the apparition stealing his voice like a thief of the night. The gold surrounded him and the world slowed down around him, becoming soft, slow, tender, warm. The embrace felt familiar and yet so strange, like a memory in the back of his mind and no matter how hard he tried to catch it, it flew away as far as possible. The creature was more powerful than everything he knew, thousands of suns beating under each of its fingertips and he knew it could brush this world away in the blink of an eye, nuclear celestial storm destroying the Earth in a cold fire. But it did not, it sat by his side, immense wings, flags woven with gold and stardust, spread behind it, hands made of winds and deserts on his shoulders in a soothing way.

It sang in a low, deep voice that made the forest tremble, covered by a shiver of emotion. It was a husky murmur, something carrying centuries of existence with it, singing the birth and death of the Earth, the good and the wrong, the light and the darkness, forever fighting, collapsing against each other, and everytime it is the purest Chaos unleashing its horses on this world. The creature confessed and wept with him, begging for forgiveness, and suddenly it was so human, so weak and broken, watching its creation, its children collapse in front of it and it knew it cannot do anything about it, that it is their destiny to crumble like a city shaken by the storm. It cried and cried and its words trembled with heavy sobs.

 

Castiel shivered with it, the power growing electric around him as the entity enfolded him a little more. It was paper thin, barely there with him but the touch was enough to make him feel at peace. Amara gave the golden creature a look full of luminous tears before she disappeared completely with a move of its hand, apologies floating in the breeze. The Father of the Earth lowered down his head to Castiel and hundreds of pale flickering yellow eyes stared at him. Desperate sighs were shaking his chest and the angel looked above, mesmerized, incredulous as his name was repeated again and again, a soft, low lament among the pines. He felt so little, like an useless being that could be crushed under merciless feet, and yet he felt so safe, as if there was nothing to fear.

The being blinked and had a long sigh, his fingers running through Castiel's hair in a soothing way. His words were foreign and whispered in thousands of little voices, but Castiel understood each one of them and the tears rose to his eyes and his heart started to beat again, and liquid gold fell down on him, soaking his body in fresh star tears and he gasped, breathless. There was another blow of warm light and a touch on Castiel's grace, on the small ball sleeping in its nest between his shoulder blades.

He held his breath and the celestial glow faded away slowly. Something started to beat against his chest, slowly, carefully, like emerging from a long, heavy slumber in the snow. It was a gentle touch, a timid melody at first before it started thundering against Castiel's ribs, a whole symphony crashing, shouting, singing in choirs, soldier walking to the rhythm of the war drums. It was pounding in a body that was glacial a few moments ago and suddenly the warmth was back into frozen limbs.

 

One by one, the colors started to appear above Dean's body, small luminous fireflies. First one, and then two and three and then a whole swarm, bright, joyful, buzzing in the night, giving it a strange, yet hypnotic glow. Castiel stopped breathing, the ache in his chest exploding, shattering inside him, cutting his bones and veins and he was bleeding dry, muttering words, begging the soul to come alive in one blinding blow and fill him whole of this soft sensation. He was dying to feel it again, warm and scented like a forest during autumn, rustling in his lungs with every breath he took.

 

He gave his Father a last look, heart covered of electricity and the being of light nodded slightly before it opened its wings wide above its head, flags of gold flapping in the wind. In one motion, it was rising above the ground, long threads of grace floating behind it like rays of light. The Sun disappeared and the night fell back on the field, exhausted, as the time started to flow the same way as before. The world had a little sigh that shivered in the leaves and the grass covered by dew, still shaking under the magic of the evening, barely believing it all happened.

Castiel's sore body made him wince, acid human pain bubbling inside him but he could not leave, not anymore. He had to wait for the soul to wake up, for it to find its place again among the white bones and soft flesh, behind the growling heart that pumped black. He had to be there when it would breathe again, and he had to be there to see if the miracle worked.

 

He dreaded the moment, for Death leaves bright marks on each soul it touches. When the Reaper lands its cold ice fingers on a body, it is forever, there is no turning back and the skin will bear the scar of the End even in the afterlife. It is usually a pale pink cut on the heart, a silky translucent ribbon, and it is invisible to the human eye. It is a glow that cannot be tamed and even the angels bow before this power, for they know it could shine inside them one day.

But there, the fear is real for Dean's soul was not touched once, but twice by the bony hands. Castiel bit his tongue to the blood, fearing the color of the eyes that will soon open. What if, in the dreadful hours that passed, Dean silently floated to Hell and suffered there for years? What if he was about to come back to life in the most awful way, just a soldier who is too tired to fight, a man that is nothing more than the shadow of himself? What if Castiel's whim only broke him more than ever and he was now destined to ache for the rest of his days? What if his journey to the underworld turned him into a burning, swirling void? What if he was finally at peace in the warmth of the flames, and the angel's silent cry for help only dragged him out of this soft stupor?

 

Castiel had a small strangled sob but before he could think, he stopped breathing and his body became tense like a bow before war, as eyelashes fluttered on freckled cheeks and he is swallowed whole in eyes as deep as the night.

 

 

**\---------------------------------------**

 

 

Castiel is laying on the bed, feeling the fresh white sheets underneath his body, rustling softly everytime he moves. The sun shines through the cracks in the wooden shutters and thin golden rays pierce them, making the specks of dust glimmer as they float above him. A cool breeze blows into the room, making him shiver a little.

He blinks to chase the slumber away and it is like an odd stupor is freezing his limbs. For a moment, he does not know where he is, he is just a silhouette of flesh and blood on a tender morning and he breathes in deeply, a sharp smell filling his lungs and the last remains of the night shape into tears covering his eyes as he opens them slowly, staring at the white ceiling. Small light bulbs are hanging above him and he can hear the electricity crackling in them, yellow sparks singing in the light of the day. He takes another deep breath and his life comes back to him, pieces by pieces.

 

Of course, he remembers the blood, the pain, the fights, the screams. They all swirl together in the darkest room of his head and he does not want to go inside, but his mind is stronger and it pushes the door and his memories jump on him, catching his breath for a moment. A lump on his throat, he swallows and grabs a handful of silky sheets to hold on reality, as the black emotions rush through him, swallow him whole as he tries to keep his head out of the water. He does not want to dive back in them, he wants to stay on the shore, he wants to be safe.

He fights for a moment against them, clenching his jaw as he sits right on the bed, dark poison flowing free in his veins. The world is spinning fast around him and his vision is blurry, the night tries to take him back into its arms and he is falling into a black lake, cruel waters bubbling under him. He flies away, terrified, before he starts running in the long streets of his head and he turns around, distraught, as the Flood follows him, tiredness making his moves slow and heavy. He shuts his eyes tight, a blow of his grace going off like a bomb inside him, brushing the painful memories away.

 

He is suddenly standing in front of an old manor with dark bricks covered of bright ivy. He stops, breathless, as the forest is closing around him, tall scented pines singing under the wind and the large door of wood opens slowly with a creaking that makes shivers run down his spine. A golden light seems to shine inside the house, a surreal glow that pulses in the tall building, behind the stained glass window, and suddenly he sees the cross trying to reach the skies, perched on the sharp roof. His heart tightens in his chest and he steps into the house, his soul trembling among his bones, blue snake crawling in his blood that turned to mud and fear.

The mansion shakes a little and it feels like two realities are overlaid. One is the same house Castiel saw a few moments ago, impressive, full of scents and laughter, warm, old and strange, a feeling of safety floating in the dusty air. As he walks in, he sees the rooms are full of memories, some bright and joyful, some a little tainted of a gentle melancholy. There is something following him, a timid feeling he cannot describe, a soft cloud that enfolds him with silky wings and hands. He knows this universe made of fire and stars and liquid gold and whiskey is not entirely his, but rather some place he shares with someone else, someone that is half his soul.

The other vision above this one is a wide, white church which floor is covered of brown and gray veined marble. He holds his breath and keeps walking. The building is cold, there is not a sound, not a flutter, just a silent melody made of hundreds of low whispers. On the walls, statues of stone look at him like a strange creature and their bony hands seem to reach out to him. The colored windows shine bright and threatening on his halo, illuminating the nave with dancing shadows. When he raises his head, he sees the ceiling is a deep night sky where stars flicker, bright and burning cold, and some rips through the firmament like fallen fireflies. This part of his mind is something mystic, biblical, the very core of his being and as he approaches the altar, he realizes he is not alone anymore.

 

Next to the fireplace, face illuminated by the moving bright flames and standing under the stained glass windows, there it is. The other part of his being, the other half of his bleeding heart. Castiel blinks, puzzled. It is the deepest part of his mind, his sanctuary of bone and ice, and yet, here _he_ is. He managed to pierce his armor and enter the purest room of his head, settling down in the dust and the grace, moving the strings of his soul. The link between them shivers a little, trembling neon ribbon and Castiel's way is illuminated, a river flowing under his steps as he gets closer, the sky shimmering brighter above him. An old jukebox spits a joyful melody that resonates in the empty church and roses blooms where a laughter hits the walls. The tall gray pillars are covered of gold and crumbles to dust as Castiel feels his heart sinking.

Dean turns to him, a wide smile painted on his lips as his soul throws dark sparks around him and his joy is splattered on the walls of the cathedral and he seems at the perfect place, him the evil being bathed in this holy light. Golden specks dance in his eyes as he walks to Castiel. The angel shivers and feels the illusion fading a little as he falls back into the reality that calls him with a voice wrapped in velvet. He shakes his head and his body crashes against Dean's, and he wraps his arms around the demon's waist, burying his face in his neck. He is everything like he remembers, strong and powerful, a manor standing for centuries under the rain and the wind, bright and full of memories, smelling like leather and pine, old books and warm apples. Castiel fights back the tears and focuses on the warmth coming from Dean's body as the snow starts falling on them, silently covering the marble ground.

 

Castiel steps back long minutes after, and he feels his soul being ripped apart as Dean is still staring at him with the same small smile, always tainted of the same sharp sadness behind the amused curve of his lips. Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to remember every detail as he falls back into reality, trying to calm the distraught beats of his heart.

 

He opens his eyes and the room comes into focus again, warm and familiar. He sighs deeply. It is the first time he spends an entire night without any nightmare. He may have tried everything to ease his soul each time he was about to fall asleep, but nothing worked. Bad dreams, promises of death and destruction would run after him until the morning, and he would wake up covered in sweat and tears, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. But this time it was different, the fear left his nights and despite that sudden rush of panic, he is feeling better than he has ever been lately. For once he does not feel haunted and empty after seeing Dean's death a thousand times in front of his eyes, in a thousands of different and twisted ways.

 

He swings his legs out of the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, passing a hand on his dry tired eyes, chasing the last threads of sleep as he runs his fingers in his disheveled hair. He has a long, deep sigh before he gets up, the world shaking a little around him. He stands still for a moment, waiting for the universe to stop its foolish crisis and let him be. He tries to focus on each detail, each sensation as he walks to the window, a dangerous feeling crashing in his stomach. He moves the curtains and opens them, before he pushes the shutters made of light wood and the morning rushes inside the room, bright and beautiful.

His eyes are bathed in Sun and he blinks, feeling like his whole being is soaked in this blinding glow. The little house is resting on piles, perched above the ocean that is already roaring, proud and loud. Sam and Eileen decided they needed a vacation and Castiel followed them, curious to see the golden sand shine under the luminous waves. He may have seen all the Creation since its beginning but this immense mirror shimmering under the sun was taking his breath away every time. It was the source of all wonder, and it felt so pure and soothing. But as every beautiful thing in this world, it could not be tamed, and it was shouting at the top of its lungs, throwing sparks and drops around.

Castiel allows himself a few more minutes in front of this force of nature. He breathes in, and the salt carried by the water floats to him, fills his lungs softly and pictures of deep blue worlds appear behind his eyes, coloring his mind of soft shades, solar flares dancing on the surface. The sun is hot and bright on his face, nearly painful, but he raises it even more, enjoying the warmth that spreads on his features, slides on his neck and bare arms, under his t-shirt. The ocean rolls on the horizon, dangerous, unrelenting waves moving with white foam, before they come to lap the shore with joyful sounds. The cool breeze hits his face with brutal gusts but he dives in the feeling, the beauty of the moment making tears bead in his irises.

 

Finally, he has a little sigh and gives the ocean a last look, leaving unwillingly, his steps leading him to the living room. It is empty, bathed in the same pale blue glow, as if they lived underwater themselves, kings of an ivory city, sitting on a throne of silver and pearls. He pours himself a cup of steaming coffee and sees the small note on the fridge, Sam's neat handwriting telling him they went for a walk on the beach and did not want to wake him up. Castiel could almost feel the thin smile on the young Winchester's lips as he wrote this in hurry, Eileen grabbing his hand and leading him outside to shine under the sun.

 

Sam and Eileen both had been the lights of his days. Just like they had been there when Dean disappeared with Amara, they had been there when he was walking around in the house at night, shaken by visions, traumatized by his own fears as he would try to convince himself everything was fine now. He stayed a moment with them and each night, he would sit on the floor, facing the field and observed the moonlight dancing on the tall grass. He was trying so hard to push his agony away, but the memories were coming back again and again, always so vivid and real and he would keep the strangled sobs from coming out of his mouth. They would find him shivering on the cold tiles and worried frowns would mark their foreheads as Sam would walk him to the couch and Eileen would make hot chocolate boil, covering him with a tender motherly look.

But he had to be strong. He now had a responsibility, for Charlie was now human. The first days went terrible and he can still hear her silent screams as she would turn around at night, her arms wrapped around her frail body, a heavy feeling on his tongue as her fingertips would nearly touch the space between her shoulder blades. He knew that she did not regret her choice, that she would never had come back in the numb and empty skies. But she never imagined the pain it was to lose a part of herself, as the grace would snap and shifts into a softer version, a pale, calm soul moving under her bones as her human eyes would be blinded by the colors, the sensations, the ache and joy rushing through her. He watched over her and cared about her, making sure she would not fall into the empty.

 

When his cup is empty, he walks back to the room and puts on clean clothes, before he opens the door and leaves the familiar warmth to face the sharp, salty air of the ocean side. He walks down the small streets and sees the shops starting to open, the life brought back to the town as the windows are opened and the voices rise in the morning light. He crosses the way of strangers, men and women, old and young, wandering in the early glow, breathing the ocean deep into them. He walks by a small flower shop and the smell of roses enters his lungs with softness and he feels like hypnotized by the dizziness it creates in his head. He walks for a while like this, with no destination and no purpose, only the beat of his heart as the only thing guiding him on the pavement.

 

When he feels like his soul is floating in the purest bliss, he finally turns to the ocean again, same old companion, and starts walking to it, his grace drawn like a moth to a flame, and his being sings with the waves as he enters the empty beach. He soon notices their silhouettes, alone on the sand, laughing as the cold water licks their bare feet. The sun is filling the blue sky and it feels like the holy garden opened its gates to them. Thin threads of pink cover the horizon and the water is tainted of that soft color, turning it into a wide soapy lake, bubbling under the raw silky wind.

He arrives next to them, step after step and he took out his shoes to feel the fresh sand melt under his feet. The wind moves his hair, the tip of a few strands falling in front of his eyes. He has a deep sigh and walks closer, specks of gold shining under him. He shivers and he sees Sam, Charlie and Eileen turning to him, bright smiles spreading on their lips as they wave at him, clothes soaked in cold water, turned rough by the salt and wind and sun. Lazarus is jumping in the waves, barking happily as he tries to catch the drops of fresh liquid crystals.

 

He smiles back at them as he is finally facing them and he feels so close to the ocean, roaring in his ears as his grace dives under the surface. And he, the creature coming from the skies, used to swim among the light and clouds, he now feels closer to these agitated waters and he wishes he could drown in the feeling. His eyes close once again, just to make the scented wind become the song of his own mind.

When he opens them again, he cannot help the smile inside his soul from spreading on his lips as he dives in bright eyes, fields of sun, lakes of odd liquor. He walks closer and his arms find their way, wrap themselves around a waist, his head falls against the strong bone of a shoulder, his breath swirls around the same neck, his colors collide against sharp, bright ones. He feels tears rising to his eyes and he does not understand them, for he is not suffering, he is not drowning in sorrow.

 

No, he never felt like this, never like this soft emptiness that cannot be described, for his grace sings in his veins as Dean smiles against his hair, his heart starting to beat faster against the angel's ribs and he holds him closer, feels the warmth of his body fighting the cool breeze around, and his soul is shouting louder in his ears than the ocean will ever be.

 

**X**

 

“What are you thinking about?” Dean suddenly asks, out of the blue.

 

Castiel frowns and moves a little to look at him. They are both on the beach, seating face to face with the boiling ocean. Dean is sitting right, his back against the cooler full of beers. They spent the whole morning there, only reaching home once to grab a few things to calm the hunger in their bellies. Castiel is leaning against him, his head against his bare chest still dripping of fresh water, as the flames of his black tattoo seem to dance under the light of the timid afternoon.

 

Castiel feels the sun sliding on his own skin, tender caress as he observes Sam and Eileen playing in the waves, and a smile spreads on his lips as the young Winchester takes the Nephilim in his arms, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her thin arms circle his waist as she buries her face against him, and Castiel can see the glimmering behind her as her emotions flow free, her wings threatening to appear again, bursting out of her back, feathers soon soaked in the crystal clear water. He raises his eyes to look at Dean and sees this one is already staring at him, a slight frown marking his brow.

“What?” He whispers, his voice a little husky for he did not speak for hours, enjoying the last embers of the afternoon against Dean's warm skin in the most perfect silence.

 

The demon shifts his position a little behind him. “I don't know. You looked lost.” He simply says, his stare falling back on the turquoise waves, his soul swirling in lazy ribbons around him, bright green on the center, pure gold on the edges like an evil crown.

 

The angel thinks for a moment, searching for the right words and his eyes dive in the ocean, as if it was holding all the answers of the Universe. “I was thinking...” He starts, slowly. “I never thought all of this could be possible. Not for us.”

 

Dean's eyes flutter back to him and blue and green gems collide against each other. The demon stays silent for a while, barely blinking under the roaring breeze. Time flies so fast when wasted in happiness and the night is already appearing above the ocean, just small hints, darker shades of blue as the air is getting a little bit colder. Dean shivers and he moves to finally lay on his back, on the soft sand. Castiel follows the motion and nestles against him, as they look above to see the firmament starting to shine under the day, the moon already floating above their heads, round and bright silver coin.

“Well, guess we were wrong.” Dean finally whispers after a moment, and there is a little hurt melody under his words.

 

Castiel raises his head to look at him and he can feel Dean's hot, sharp breath on his face. “What's going on?” He whispers, sounding the depths of Dean's soul, frowning.

 

“Nothing.” Dean starts before he stops as he feels Castiel's body freezing, knowing he is about lie. He bites his lip and swallows his pride back, as he raises his head back to the skies, watching the night fall like a soft velvet blanket. “It's just that I'm scared, OK? I'm scared something is going to happen and that I'll loose all of this.” He says in a shaking breath.

 

“You won't.” Castiel answers, sitting right, his forearms diving in the sand as he rolls on his stomach to dive his eyes into Dean's. The demon gives him a sad look back, the angel's soft features filling the space above his head, the only vision darkening the sun beams.

 

“How can you be so sure?” Dean murmurs, the Heavens heavy on him as he raises a hand to cup Castiel's face, his fingertips diving in soft dark hair, still a bit damp of salty water, curling behind the angel's ear.

 

“I won't let it happen.” Castiel simply answers, and Dean would have a little laugh but his blue eyes are terribly serious, a frown darkening the seas moving and crashing inside them. These eyes are old and furious and stubborn and worried. “Amara will not come back.”

 

“I know.” Dean croaks, a lump on his throat. “But what if there's something worse? What if all of this-” Memories and sounds and emotions flash in his mind and he catches them, holds them tight against his beating heart. He looks at Castiel, an acid worry piercing in his irises. “What if this is all a dream and I'm going to wake up and all of this will be gone?” He gives Castiel a desperate blow of his soul. “What if it's not real?”

 

“It's real.” The angel answers in a murmur and he stares at Dean for long minutes, pushing all his emotions to him, a Flood of colors rushing through the demon who shivers. Castiel sighs deeply and lays again, covering Dean's body with his own, tangling their fingers together, whispering against his neck. “When you...came back, I didn't want want to believe it. I thought I would open my eyes and you would be gone. I thought that one day or another, I would realize you disappeared that night.” He says and Dean listens closely, his mouth dry and empty. “I had nightmares every night.”

 

“I know.” Dean whispers. “I had them too.” He adds and his grip on Castiel's hand gets stronger, turning their knuckles white. A veil falls in front of his eyes. “It's not that I don't want to believe but… I just can't.”

 

“We have to.” Castiel says. “We can't think something worse is coming forever. That is not living, Dean.”

 

“Yeah but we can't control everything either. Maybe something will come back from the dead once again and run after me.” He has a little hurt, acid laugh. “It's like I'm attracting all the freaks in town.” His eyes darken. “Maybe that's because I'm one myself.”

 

Castiel shivers at Dean words. “It's not true.” He says, putting a hand on the side of Dean's face, forcing him to look at him. “It's not true. And you know it.” He repeats.

 

Dean has another laugh full of ache. “You know what I did to all these people.” He dives his eyes into the angel's. “I'm not with the good ones, Cas. When I lost my family, I couldn't control myself, and when I came back from Hell it was the same. I couldn't protect Sam and I hurt you. And when Amara came, I became nuts again.” He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. “Because of me, people died. They freaking _died_! You and Charlie lost your wings, Sammy was tortured and I killed Aniel. I doubt God would ever want anything good for me.”

 

“He brought you back to me.” Castiel answers softly, a hand running through Dean's short hair. “I think this is what you could call a miracle.”

 

Dean opens his mouth to answer before he shuts it, not knowing what to say. He stares at Castiel for a moment, his eyes travelling on the angel's features, as if he was mapping his face in his memory, carving it precisely in his head to never forget it, even if he knows this vision is more precious than gold and he will never let it slip away.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He suddenly murmurs and his eyes shine like stars on the soft blue sky that now covers the town and they swirl of the same thousands of colors, orange, gold, pink, purple.

 

Castiel's breath gets stuck in his throat and he blinks, his words blown away by the blast Dean created in his heart, and he knows it will always be like that. He knows that the centuries will flow, the faces will get blurrier, and he may turn to dust and ash and he may see this world crumble to his feet, but what he is sure of is that they will never be apart. If dust and ash they are destined to become, then dust and ash they will be, but only if they swirl together in the hot wind brushing the broken Earth. Even in the fire, his bond to Dean will always be nuclear, monstrous and dangerous, and it will set the Universe on fire, defying the rules of these stars and voids.

 

The words will not not shape in his mind, they will never be strong enough. Instead of speaking, he leans towards Dean and presses a long, desperate kiss on his mouth, the taste of Life itself on his lips. The demon sits right and falls entirely in the embrace. The tip of Castiel's tongue finds Dean's, and it is an ocean of emotions crashing down on him. It reminds him of strong golden whiskey and scented pines and loud rainy nights where it sounds like the roof of the world is about to collapse on their heads. It reminds him of fresh white sheets, body tangled together. It reminds him of the morning dew and the ablaze skies, and ivy covering white churches, crosses trying to reach the skies. It reminds him of dark wood and pale marble, spilled oil and soapy rivers, thunder and lightning. It is darkness and light swirling together in an endless dance, until their feet burn as they fall on the cold floor, laughing and kissing until their mouths are dripping blood and their ribs feel like they are about to shatter.

Honey and wine are flowing, rushing through his veins as his fingers dive in Dean's hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer and closer, and he wants to collide and his grace turns to gold as Dean breathes against his mouth, shining bright. The demon's fingertips are diving in his back and each one of them burns softly on his skin, feeling like he is drawing strange patterns, unholy constellations on his flesh. The wind is barely brushing against their bodies, time flows slow, the sounds are tamed around them, and the only bright light is the touch going electric between them.

 

When they pull apart, breathless, they need a moment to realize the world did not really stop spinning. They drown a bit longer in each other's eyes and their hearts race like roaring engines. Dean's hands are framing Castiel's hips and he can see the fire dancing in his bright green eyes. His own lips feel bruised and sore but he takes the time to give Dean a last kiss, softer, lighter, just brushing against his mouth as northern lights are still dancing in the back of his skull.

 

When they turn back to the ocean, Sam, Eileen and Charlie are staring at them with a wide smile on their faces as they look at their disheveled hair and short breaths and sweat-soaked bodies. Dean feels the heat rising to his cheeks and gives his brother a falsely dark glare.

They walk to them and Eileen gives a mesmerized look to the somber skies as Sam's eyes fall on his brother. Behind the beach, the streets are illuminated, the shops welcoming the flow of people wandering in the falling night like silent owls. “We should go back home and get dressed.” Seeing Dean's confused look, he goes on. “Eileen wanted to try one of the restaurants we saw near the beach.”

 

“And after that we'll go to the carnival!” Charlie exclaims and Dean turns to her, a strange warm joy spreading in his chest as he sees her eyes turning gold of excitement. It is still so odd to see her surrounded by her human soul, and there are dark circles under her irises, remains of her sleepless nights. She seems to move with grace and ease, but Dean can see the way she does not walk close to the walls, and how her shoulders still raise a little sometimes, as if she was about to shake her feathers. It hurts his heart but everytime he tried to apologize, she brushed his words away and said it was her own choice.

 

“Alright.” He grumbles as he gets up, holding out a hand to help Castiel doing the same. He stretches his numb limbs and yawns, now feeling the small stab of hunger in his stomach. “Let's do that.” He says with a wide smile showing his teeth.

 

They gather their things back and walk back to the house, heads full of soft smells and fireworks going off, illuminating the skies. Dean watches his feet diving in the wet sand before his track disappear, only leaving the smooth surface of the beach behind him. For once, his way is not stained in blood and ash, it is immaculate, and he does not bruise the earth with his every steps.

 

He gives Castiel a look and sees that it is the same. There is no gold, no diamond powder where he stepped and it feels unfair. Each of his breath should float in the air forever, should be carved in the Heavens like stardust and winter snow. Dean has a small sigh that tightens his chest a little before he presses Castiel's fingers in his own and focuses back on the pale wood path to their small house, ready to hear the floor crack under his feet, the sand itch his tan skin that now smells like sun and salt. He already imagines his body slipping in soft slumber, in silky sheets, Castiel breathing hot in his arms, Lazarus curled up against him.

 

Before they enter their home, he gives the horizon a last look and thinks that possibly, there is a way for him to live. Not just to survive in sweat and rust, but to live just like any other breathing being. He looks at the roaring ocean, endless and powerful, and he looks at Castiel, and he sees the same thing. The same mirror that holds his whole world in place.

 

**X**

 

_Finger on the trigger. One breath. Eye on the prey. Heart stopping. **BANG**._

 

Charlie screams as the last colorful balloon pop with a joyful little sound, only leaving an empty row on the wall. Dean steps back with a grin, lowering his gun as he turns to her, happiness bubbling inside him like an odd pond. She jumps in his arms, her laughter filling the thick night around.

 

They had dinner in one of the small restaurants facing the sea. Despite the cool breeze that made them shiver from time to time, they sat on the terrace, enjoying every mouthful of the delicate hot meal, every new sensation blooming on their tongues. Long threads of ivy were hanging from the wooden ceiling, curling at the end like a goddess' silky hair. Small light bulbs were laced with dry branches, illuminating their heads with a golden halo. The scent of candles was floating around, making them melt on their seats, eyes glimmering, thinking they reached Heaven.

When they left, Dean could barely walk, his belly full and heavy, his throat still sore of laughter. He was tired and his eyelids were fluttering too often, but as he saw Charlie's begging look to the carnival roaring in the distance, he could not refuse. After a short drive of warm silence and tangled fingers, they arrive in front of it and the second they got out of the car, Dean was hit by so many different emotions that he stood motionless for a long minute, dizzy, eyes full of light. As they entered the place, his soul shook a little, frightened by all these bright colors and loud sounds thundering in his chest, moving his bones, turning his blood hot and gold.

 

They walked by a shooting range and he barely noticed it, his brain trying to absorb everything around, from the voices shouting to the music pumping in his veins, the spinning amusement rides, turning so fast he could not see the silhouettes inside them, it was just a blurry galaxy made of neon lights and metallic arms. He noticed he was holding his breath when his ribs started to hurt and he came back to reality, violent melodies still ringing in his ears, sugary smells filling his brain, and he was lost in a sea of cotton candy and flashing lights.

Charlie was the one who definitely ripped him from this loud stupor. He was about to continue his way among the attractions when she grabbed his arm and made him stop, pointing excitedly at the stand, her eyes like ponds of liquid gold, the hot lights shining in them like mad fireflies. She turned to him, breathless.

“Dean, let's do this!” She gasped.

 

The demon had a little look to the stand and the man standing behind the counter gave him a wide smile, inviting him to play as he took a false gun and held it to him. Dean froze, staring at the weapon with a lump on his throat. It was a toy, nothing more, but when the soft weight fell in his palm, he swallowed down hardly, cold sweat rolling down his spine as he gave Charlie a nervous look. She answered him with an amused curl of her lips and shook his arm, begging doe eyes.

“You're way better at this than me.” She said, turning to the rows of small balloons, before she looked back at him. “It'll be fun!” She added, a malicious glimpse in her eye.

 

He sighed deeply. “Yeah, if you say so.” He grumbled and she clapped her hands with an excited little noise. He gave the man a few coins before he stood in front of his target.

 

He breathed in and out and rose his weapon, slightly shaking. He missed the first shot, the small plastic bullet hitting the wall behind. The man had a small laugh that made Dean clench his jaw. There he was, incapable of making a stupid balloon explode when a few months ago he could have thrown a blade several feet away and touched the heart everytime. But there, he was disturbed by all this noise, so strange to him who lives in the depths of the forest where the nature barely breathes. He did not want to give up, he wanted to set himself free and break those chains around his wrists, and he wanted to give his odd little sister everything she wanted, for she lost something way more worthy than a few false bullets.

He took a deep breath and stood like a mountain on his feet, steady and sure, his eyes growing cold and he pulled the trigger again and again, but it was not the deadly detonation he was hearing everytime, but the heavenly laughter coming from Charlie as her eyes were filled with the stars she was made of.

 

He now steps back, a smirk painted on his lip as the man gives him an incredulous look, watching the small colored bullets fall in the buckets below. Dean only got one shot for each and he was so sure he would fail, but that odd dark stranger barely blinked and won the game. The man shivers and tries a thin, nervous smile as Dean gives him a mocking smirk.

“So, now choose your price.” The man says, turning his eyes to the short woman, and her small pearls of eyes shine of an inhuman glow. He freezes again, thinking that this evening is definitely the strangest he ever lived. He turns to point at the highest shelf of the stand. “You can pick whatever you want from there.”

 

She has an excited little laugh as she leans on the counter, pointing at a stuffed animal behind the man. “This one, please!” She exclaims, giving him her now famous blinding smile, too warm to be angelic, too bright to be human.

 

He snorts and crosses his arms on his chest. “Except this one.” He turns and his stare crosses Dean's dark look. “Unless you want to try again to have it.”

 

“Oh c'mon, I already finished your little game. What do you want more?” Dean says, slightly exasperated. He opens his wallet, takes a ten dollar bill out of it. “That's OK?”

 

The man gives him a look before he takes the money in his palm. “Sure.” He held out the gun to him and under Dean's confused expression, he smirks. “But you have to play.”

 

Dean is about to protest and he is nearly reaching out to grab the man's collar, his blood boiling black in his veins when Charlie stands in front of him. “Hey it's fine. I can try myself if you want.” She says softly with a thin smile.

 

Dean glares at the man a last time before he pouts and looks at her. “Nah, I'm going to do it.” He gives her a half amused, half tender look before he turns to the stallholder again. “What do I have to do?” He shouts.

 

The man has the same enervating smirk as he points at his right. Next to his finger, a wheel is spinning so fast it reminds Dean of the attractions around him. On it, two small balls of glass are fixed and turns at the speed of light, and even his evil eye has hard time catching a glimpse of them. He wants to snap black and the lightning to strike right on this foolish man but he gathers his patience and raises his gun.

“You have to shoot the two. And when you hit the first, you have five seconds to touch the other.” The stallholder turns to Charlie, a smirk painted on his lip. “I doubt your boyfriend can have this one.” He adds in a laugh.

 

 **BANG**. The demon shakes and he is too slow and the tiny galaxy in front of him is turning too fast and he is going to lose.

 

“I'm not his lover.” Charlie says next to him, an acid hint to her honey voice.

 

Dean cannot believe he is losing his mind over a foolish game. Sweat beads on his spine and he curls his fingers tighter around the gun until they turn white. He clenches his jaw and is about to throw the damn weapon to the man's face when a familiar voice resonates next to him.

 

“I am.”

 

 **BANG**. The second pearl bursts in a joyful sound and Dean turns incredulous to see Castiel by his side, gun pointed at the wheel with a wide smile on his mouth. He gives Dean a golden grin before Charlie jumps against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist.

 

The stallholder stares at them, speechless and even rubs his eyes once, thinking the smokes around probably found their way to his brain. He then shakes his head, grumbles and grabs the stuffed animal and gives it roughly to Charlie who holds it tight against her heart. The man mutters and wishes them a good evening tainted of a slight exasperation.

 

They walk away from the stand, laughter exploding around, causing several people to turn around. Charlies holds her price tight against her and Dean gives it a look.

He represses a laugh. “Tell me you didn't make me do it for this… _thing_?!” He says, pointing at the small bear she is holding like her own child. Tiny, fluffy white wings hang from its back while a thin ring of golden metal seems to float above its head.

 

“Hey, I like it!” She exclaims, punching Dean softly in his arm before she leans to the bear, as if she was talking to him. “Don't listen to him. He is just jealous.”

 

Dean gives him a half amused, half exasperated look as she runs to Sam and Eileen, giggling excitedly. The Nephilim takes the candy apple Sam is giving her and has a bite in it, before she turns again to him to put a sticky, sugary kiss on his lips that freezes him on place, his hands soon framing her face as he leans to her.

 

Dean has a small smile and the scene warms his cold heart again. He turns to talk to Castiel but he sees the angel is no longer next to him. He stops, suddenly terrified as his soul pulses violently inside him. He gives a look around and his worry fades away when he spots the dark haired silhouette among the crowd that gathered together in front of an attraction. Dean walks quickly to him and stands by his side, raising his head to look at whatever caught Castiel's attention.

His breath is taken away when he sees the people spinning around a tall pillar, sitting on simple swings. Couples, friends, siblings are sitting next to each other, holding hands as they scream everytime the speed rises and their bodies fly across the air like fragile arrows. The pillar is painted in different colors so it looks like a long, skinny galaxy and there is a wide lid on it, small planets, stars and comets hanging among the swings. The music is hypnotic and Dean feels as if he is getting sucked into that atmosphere from another world. When he looks around he sees a lot of people are standing in front of the attraction, giving it half mesmerized, half scared looks. The light flash, neon beams dancing around with electric green lasers, smokes spurting out of the ground in odd clouds.

They watch it turn a little more before the ride is finished and the swings slowly come back to the ground. The passengers take out of their metallic seat belts and carefully put their feet on the illuminated floor. A few of them are a little paler than usual and some do not walk to the exit in a perfect straight path.

 

Dean blinks and turns to Castiel, who is still staring at the attraction with golden stars filling his eyes, neon lights casting odd shadows on his features. “Tell me you don't want to do that.” The demon says loud enough to cover the deep basses of the music.

 

Castiel turns to him and Dean sees in his look that madness probably already took him in its arms. “I would like to, yes.” Castiel answers softly with a thin smile.

 

“Are you crazy? Or do you want to die or something?” Dean answers back, giving the attraction a side look, watching the bravest moving on their seats, a little overwhelmed by unease as they realize there is no turning back now. He swallows down and looks back at Castiel. “I'm afraid I can't go with you on this one.” He admits, already imagining several feet of empty space under him, threatening void ready to swallow him whole.

 

“It's OK.” Castiel says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder as if to soothe him. “I'll go alone.” He glances at the attraction. “Besides, I suppose they'll wait for someone to sit next to me to begin the ride.”

 

Dean gives him a distraught look but before he can speak a low and deep voice cuts him off. “Excuse me?” They both turn to the source of the noise to see a tall man with dark brown hair smiling at them. “I heard you talking and I wanted to ask if I could join you. I wanted to do this one since forever but never had a… partner to join me.” He says with a wide grin and his eyes are fixed strong on Castiel, discreetly travelling up and down his silhouette.

 

Castiel's smile spreads and he is about to accept when Dean steps between the two of them, hiding Castiel from the stranger. “I changed my mind.” He blurts behind his clenched teeth before he turns back to Castiel. “I'm coming.” He says and before the angel can protest, he passes an arm under his and takes him to the checkout.

 

“Dean, you don't have to do this-” Castiel starts as the demon puts a crumpled bill on the counter and takes the small pieces of translucent plastic the man is giving them. He takes it in his shaking palm and turns to him.

 

“That's fine. I think I can handle a little ride.” He says, trying to sound confident when all his being crawled in the depths of his body, leaving him on his own. He tries to reassure himself as he sits on the last empty seat. He thinks of Hell and Amara and angels, just anything bigger than a stupid luminous attraction.

 

Castiel sits next to him, worry painted all across his features as his eyes roam on Dean's face. “You don't have to do anything.” Dean does not answer so he ties his fingers to his. “I don't you to feel unwell because of me.”

 

Dean releases a deep breath before he turns to him, his eyes diving into Cas' crystal blue ones. “I know. But after all the crap we've been through lately, I think I should let go for once. I owe you that one.”

 

“You owe me nothing, Dean.” Castiel says softly and his grace is blue solar flares snapping back and forth around him, wrapping themselves around Dean's wrists and hands. He has a small smile. “You have the right not to be strong. You've already been through enough battles.”

 

Dean gives him a bittersweet smile. “It's OK.” He murmurs softly before he raises his eyes to the top of the pillar. “Besides, it's not _that_ high.” He adds, feeling his strength bubbling inside him.

 

Strength that soon waves at him when the man lowers their seat belt and it feels like a metallic cage around him, and he gives a worried look around, the kind of look felines have when they feel the threat coming closer. He bites his lip and suddenly his body stiffens as the engines underneath him starts roaring and gets going, has a little jolt before the swings start rising above the ground. Dean holds his breath and shuts his eyes tight, as he would rather hide in the dark than face the evening breeze blowing strong under him.

 

When they start turning around the pillar, he thinks he is going to pass out, die and dissolve right here on his seat. At first, they spin slowly, almost carefully, the attraction nearly rocking them as if to soothe them before sleep. He starts to feel almost appeased when suddenly the music changes switching from a soothing, ambient electronic tune to a shaking, distraught melody shrieking in his ears, flares and bombs going off in his brain.

Slowly, he feels the wind brushing harder and harder against his face and his back is pushed against the seat and he cannot move anymore. He feels his stomach protesting dully inside him and he nearly crushes Castiel's fingers in his palm. He feels his body getting lighter, barely weighing like specks of dust floating in the wind, and at the same time he feels so heavy and insignificant among the clouds. He takes a deep shaking breath and he sees his fear turning his vision red when Castiel's voice drags him out of the mud he is sinking in.

 

“It feels like that.” The angels murmurs out of the blue, his words strangely clear in the strong wind blowing in Dean's ears.

 

“What?” Dean croaks in return, eyes still shut tight as he feels his head spinning faster and faster each second. He hears the excited and terrified screams of the swings in front and behind him, the gasps at his feet, half carried away by all the deafening sounds.

 

There is a silence where Dean's heart thunders in his chest before Castiel's voice rings again in his head. “Flying.” He whispers and the demon feels something soft and cool flow on his arm, making its nest in his palm.

Pushed by a devouring curiosity, he opens his eyes, just a little, only letting a thin ray of electric light enter his body. Something steals his breath when he sees Castiel's grace floating around them in thick ribbons, luminous flares tainted of some kind of white-blue. They surround them, held them almost tenderly in silky arms. Dean blinks and his eyes open wide, his heart beats strong, pumping gold in his veins. Some darker threads swirl with the nearly translucent ones, throwing cold drops like pearls on his skin.

 

He turns to look at Castiel's face and sees his eyes started to shine, snow and turquoise water, a celestial glow appearing in the back of his irises as he turns to him and gives him a blinding smile that feels like a thunderclap in Dean's chest. He dives into these ponds of icy flames and suddenly he sees through the angel's eyes and he sees the valleys, the mountains, the lakes, seas and oceans below him as the shadow of strong, wide wings cover the ground underneath him. He sees the same flares of grace dancing around him, wrapping themselves around his arms and waist, fluttering before him like holy birds. He feels so powerful, so light and it feels like liquid silver is flowing in his veins that were so muddy and itchy before. He takes a deep breath in the ether and he feels like he is something more, from a place beyond this world. He feels celestial.

When he emerges out of the awake dream, he blinks and sees he is still flying, but without wings and he represses a cry of surprise when the lights go off above them, only to let silver bright stars painted on the roof, threads of gold hanging from it, curling next to him. Scented smokes rise from the ground under them, swirling pink and blue and suddenly the lights start to flicker, pushing him into a hypnotic dance, and his mind cannot follow, it is thrown into another dimension as the world appear, disappear in silver, appear, disappear again, only leaving him and the night sky. Castiel is still holding is hand firmly and gives him a look that could melt the coldest gold. Warm lights are wrapped around the wires holding their seat and they feel soothing under his stare as his breath is taken away both by the sensation blowing his mind away, and the pure awe in Dean's smile.

 

Before he can even realize, the attraction is spinning slower and they are slowly coming back to the ground. There is indescribable feeling in Dean's chest and he feels bigger than his body, and he feels like he could shout from the top of his lungs, become another creature that burned its chains to the ground. He almost wants to go back, feel the adrenaline rushing through him, the lights blinking like thousands of icy eyes, the smokes and heady melody turning his mind comfortably numb and filled with white noise and hot static.

When the tip of his feet touches the ground and he pushes the seat belt, he feels like a whole new kind of being. He turns to Castiel, incapable of controlling the smile growing on his face. He grabs his hand and leads him to the exit, another flow of brave souls already replacing them.

 

Once outside, he turns to Castiel and before the angel can speak, he frames his face with his hands still shaking of energy and his mouth crashes against Castiel's, pulling him close in a powerful and surprising embrace. He pushes all his soul against him, showing him every single emotion he felt on this ride to his deepest fears, this flight of strange creatures. He holds him closer and closer, and Castiel's hands land gently on his ribs, fresh light spreading under his bones.

 

When he pulls apart, Castiel gives him a glassy look followed by a wide smile that spreads on his mouth and his aura glimmers and shivers a little around him. Someone shouts their names and they turn to see Eileen, Sam and Charlie walking to them, relief painted on their faces.

“We've been searching for you guys!” Sam exclaims, his tall silhouette finally arriving next to them. “Where have you been?” He asks, a little breathless.

 

Dean has a wide smile and gives the attraction a little sign of his head. “Up there.” He says.

 

Sam stares at him in silence, incredulous, before he looks at the spinning galaxy already throwing its colors and lights around, screams of ecstasy filling the night. He raises his eyebrows at his brother. “You were on that thing?” He asks, skeptical.

 

“Believe it or not, I was.” Dean answers, clapping his shoulder. He looks around, absorbing the colors and sounds like a creature made of shivering waters, the dark mirror of humanity. “So what should we do now?” He asks, grinning, his brother, Eileen and Charlie on one side, Castiel on the other, their fingers laced together like the night and the day, the light and the darkness.

 

“Well, I saw there was a firework tonight.” Eileen says, eyes lost in awe. “I never saw one, but I heard it was wonderful...” She adds, causing a soft smile from Sam who passes an arm around her shoulders, the other around Charlie who is still burying her face in her bear.

 

“Well then, let's do that.” Dean answers, feeling like his heart is too big for his chest. He puts a kiss on Castiel's temple. “After all, we've got the eternity.”

 

**X**

 

The night settled down on the town, the sky completely covered by a dark sea, the stars splattered on the firmament, shining pale above them. Most of the people gathered together on the bridge above the river, waiting for the firework to start. Seeing the loud and buzzing crowd, they drove just a few minutes away and reached a small peaceful hill. They walked to the top and sat on the grass, breathing in the soft blackness filling the empty space.

 

Charlie put her head on Sam's shoulder, her eyelids fluttering from to time, sleep threatening to swallow her whole in one hungry mouthful. She holds her bear against her chest, its small wings tickling her skin as she buries her face in its fur. Her lips are still sticky of candy and she raises her can of coke to her mouth from to time. On the other side, Eileen did the same and she released her hair from her ponytail, and it now falls in silky brown ribbons around her face as she observes her fingers tangled with Sam's.

Dean gives his brother a side look and sees the gentle flame dancing in his eyes, the tenderness that seems to pulse and snaps around him, bubbles on the surface of a crystal clear lake. He sees the way he is always so soft with her, and how he looks at her like she is a whole new kind of life, how they seem to be two fragile boats on the roaring ocean, colliding together to turn into one strong ship, facing the storm, sailing to the edge of the world.

 

He loses himself for a moment, sinking in thoughts. Few people could ever believe what happened to them, and even fewer would want to know their story. He makes a few steps back in his mind and observes his life from the distance, some kind of strange nostalgia shining in his chest.

Nothing is ever written, nothing is or will ever be the way it is supposed to be. He is born with evil flowing in his veins, and he lost what was most precious to him. Not so long ago, he thought he could never live again, that life, this stubborn enemy, would never be on his side. That everything would forever be like sandpaper on his soul. And yet, Fate was a malicious creature and his world was turned upside down. As improbable as it sounded, a light coming from the cruel, glacial skies looked at him like something new, and a bond shook in the Earth, bursting gold and powerful between the two of them. Of course, nothing was ever easy and he went through the deepest pain, the coldest curse. He saw Death, he saw its empty eyes and he felt it creating a void in his body. But he is there now, and he will not let go of this life so easily. Destiny is nothing to him and now that the ache and guilt and sorrow left and drowned, he can imagine something as frightening as the future.

 

He has a little sigh and turns to Castiel who silently stares at the horizon. On the bridge of stone, some people shout and laugh loudly, dizzy and comfortably numb with the calm of the night. Others hold each other, waiting for the show, stolen kisses and strong embraces swirling in the dark. He breathes deep the cold air and hides his face in Castiel's neck, moving next to him to find his place, closing his eyes against the angel's warmth, following the pulse of a vein with his lips, covering the skin with fluttering kisses. He feels Castiel slightly turning to him, putting his cheek on the top his head, lacing their hands together.

“Are you alright?” Castiel murmurs, his thumb making circles on Dean's hand. His voice flutters to the demon's ears, gentle bells tingling in his head.

 

“Never thought I'd say that, but yeah, I am.” Dean answers against him, feeling the fresh wind dancing around him and as he shivers, he moves closer to the celestial heat, that stands just like a burning beacon in the night. “You?”

 

Castiel is about to answer when the fireworks go off and the colors burst in the skies. Suddenly, it is flowers of red, purple, orange, blue, blooming on the velvet of the night, the sound is deafening, bright gunshots, pure explosions, stars dying in the depths of space. They may rise from the same point, at the ground, but each of them is different. Some are round and soft, clouds of moondust floating lazily in the air, others are blinding and sharp like lightning piercing the sky, thunderclaps made by warm, calloused hands and it feels like mankind is trying to create another galaxy, one that is not cold and beautiful, but flawed and close to their desperate grip. People raise mesmerized eyes full of colorful blasts, their faces like the mirror of beauty, the purest awe turning them all into children again.

 

Castiel's breath is taken away and he turns slowly to Dean, seeing the demon raised his head to the skies, breathless, his evil features illuminated by the same neon lights he once saw, many nights ago when it felt like all hope was gone and burned to the ground. He sees his bright green eyes opening wide, tears of astonishment filling these fields of light, his lips slightly open as if he was trying to sip the colors, taste them on his tongue, make them his, hold them against his heart so it would beat of all the wonder of this world.

When he feels Castiel's look on him, Dean turns his head to dive his eyes into his and they turned into a pond of gold and emeralds, and he blinks, dizzy and lost, the memories of the past months rushing through him in a muddy river, and suddenly they shatter and break, shout in his blood and crawl away in the darkest pit of all his soul.

 

Castiel's grace explodes around them, a fresh divine river made of lunar flares snapping back and forth, moontears and silver whispers, stardust and spinning black holes, his bone are ivory, his hands like biblical fire as he frames Dean's face of shaking gold.

 

“Do you think eternity will ever be enough?” Dean whispers, his eyes ablaze.

 

“No.” Castiel answers softly. “All the time in the world will never be enough.”

 

Their lips crash together and they collide against each other, heavy breaths filling the night. Dean's hands find their way around Castiel's chest, pulling him close as if he was trying to make him a part of his soul. The angel shivers and rivers of gems flow through his veins as he tastes the Universe on his mouth, stars painting his grace of a pure, frozen emotion.

 

In the depths of the night, Castiel's wings unfurl, appear in the blackness with a rain of gold in his soul, a waterfall of grace pouring from the skies. Feathers sharp like knives spread wide, hidden from the fragile souls, only there to rustle for the heart beating behind evil diamond ribs. They curl around them, shields from the skies, gift and apology for all the pain he ever felt in his celestial life. They are still made of the deepest, thickest night but they are now bathed in strange neon lights, clear blue and bright green sliding like divine beams on them.

 

Melting in the embrace, they both realize they are right. The Earth will give its last breath, the Sun will crumble to their feet and the night will forever shine on this desperate land. Ash and dust they will become but the eternity will never, oh never, be enough to tame them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 411 pages. 176k+ words. More than 4 months of work. And finally here is the end.
> 
> I'd like to thank anyone who ever readed, liked, commented, bookmarked or just clicked on my story. The simple fact it caught your attention means everything to me. I wouldn't have come this far if you were not here. When the idea for this fiction came to me, I wasn't planning for it to be so long. It was supposed to be a short little thing, but it turned out I grew so fond of it that it became something more.
> 
> Now, just because this is the last chapter doesn't mean it's the end. I'm just too emotionally attached to this story (i don't want to let it go ok?!), so if you ever want to talk about it or ask me about something you didn't understand, see me on tumblr : atenebrae
> 
> Thank you all once again for joining me on this ride! There will surely be more stories coming from me! :) ♥


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